Strange Bedfellows
by RFK
Summary: Cole's encounter with a former lover brings back old memories just a few days before his wedding. CONCLUSION!
1. Prologue

TITLE: STRANGE BEDFELLOWS AUTHOR: RFK SERIES: CHA RATING: R - Sexual situations.  
SUMMARY: Cole's encounter with a former lover brings back old memories just a few days before his wedding.  
FEEDBACK: - Be my guest. But please, be kind.  
DISCLAIMER: Cole Turner and other characters related to Charmed to Spelling Productions, Brad Kern and Constance Burge. Olivia McNeill, Christine Broome and Idril are my creations.

NOTE: Takes place about a few days after "The Uninvited" - Alternate Universe Season 6.

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Prologue

The intercom on Cole Turner's desk buzzed. The half-demon heaved a sigh and moved away from his computer screen, which displayed a legal contract, partially written by him. Cole rubbed his eyes and snapped on the intercom. "Yes?"

"You have a visitor, Mr. Turner," his assistant, Eleanor Read, replied. "A Miss Diane Moore. She hopes to become a new client."

As if he did not have enough clients. Cole had no desire to add another to his list of clients. Not while he was trying to finish this contract before his wedding. But he also knew that his employers would not take kindly to him turning away a new client for their firm. Especially since he happened to be Jackman, Carter and Kline's poster boy. "All right. Send her in."

Seconds later, Eleanor entered the office. "Miss Diane Moore," she announced. Cole's assistant stepped aside and ushered in the visitor. Cole gaped at the familiar figure, who brushed past Eleanor.

"What the . . .?" Cole stared at the new visitor in disbelief.

Eleanor asked, "Shall I bring a drink for Miss Moore?"

"An Apple Martini would be lovely," the guest replied. Eleanor regarded the visitor with dubious eyes, before she left the office. Cole glared. Once they were alone, she declared, "Belthazor, it's great to see you. As always."

Cole growled, "Apple Martini? Before noon? Good grief, Idril! And what the hell are you doing here?"

The dark-haired demoness' mouth formed a pretty smile. "I thought it would be nice for us to have lunch, together. Seeing you at your engagement party brought back old memories."

"Memories that I would rather forget," Cole retorted.

Idril eased into an empty chair. "But you can't, can you?"

Flashes of their brief affairs illuminated Cole's thoughts. He sighed. "No, I guess I can't." A triumphant smile curved Idril's mouth. "I can't forget . . . us, anymore than I can't forget Christine Bloome from the Triple Six Club, in London. How is she, by the way? I haven't heard from her in years."

Idril's mouth tightened. "I wouldn't know." She seared Cole with a death glare, before Eleanor returned with her Apple Martini. Once his assistant had left, Idril took a sip of her drink. "What about lunch, Belthazor? Still interested? I thought Caruso's at the Westin St. Francis would be nice."

Cole gave his former paramour a hard look. "And what else did you have in mind for us at the St. Regis? A room for the afternoon?"

"I don't anything wrong with re-capturing old times." Idril's smile returned. "Do you?"

A derisive snort escaped from Cole's mouth. "I don't recall any 'old times' at the St. Regis or any other hotel," he retorted. "Besides, I still have some work to finish."

Humiliating anger briefly flashed in Idril's hazel-brown eyes. "What's the matter, Belthazor? Afraid that I might seduce you, again? And that the little lady will find out?" she said with a sneer.

Cole leaned forward, smiling coldly. Contempt oozed from his voice. "The 'little lady' is a good two inches taller than you. And what makes you think that I had allowed myself to be seduced by you? Maybe there was another reason why I had stuck it out with you for nearly a month."

Idril gasped, as her face turned pale. "Wha . . .?"

Someone knocked on the door, startling the pair. Seconds later, it swung open. Cole felt a slight twinge of anxiety as his fiancée, Olivia McNeill, entered the office. She shot a quick glance at the other guest. "Oh. I didn't realize you already had a guest."

"Didn't Eleanor . . .?" Cole began.

Olivia continued, "She wasn't at her desk." She stared at Idril and smiled politely. "Idril, it's nice to see you, again. How long has it been? A few days?"

Idril drained the last of her martini and set the glass on Cole's desk. Then she gave Olivia a tight smile. "And it's . . . nice to see you too, Miss McNeill. I . . . um, . . . I just came by to say hello to Belthazor." She stood up and turned to Cole. "Well, I guess I better get going. You've certainly given me something to think about, Belthazor. Bye."

"Good-bye Idril." Cole allowed himself a brief, triumphant smile, as he watched the demoness leave the room.

Olivia sat down in the chair previously occupied by Idril and brushed a few curls from her forehead. "Wow! What was that all about?" she asked.

Panic filled Cole. "Huh?"

"You and Idril. I had noticed a . . . distinct chill in the air. Coming from you. What happened?"

Cole sighed. "Idril had asked me out for lunch, in some puerile attempt to revive our relationship. She had suggested the St. Regis Hotel."

Green eyes flew open. "So, that's where you two . . ."

"No!" Cole said sharply. "We were never at any hotel, together."

"Sorry."

Another sigh left his mouth. "Look," Cole began, "I didn't mean to sound sharp. It's just that I've always found Idril annoying. In fact, I'm beginning to regret that I had anything to do with her, in the first place."

Olivia stood up and headed for the liquor cabinet. She poured herself a glass of club soda. "Didn't you once tell me that you only went out with her to satisfy an itch?"

Cole leaned back into his leather chair. "That's how it had started. But I eventually became involved with her . . . to piss off my mother."

"Huh?" The glass paused just an away from Olivia's mouth. "Are you . . . there's nothing Oedipal about all of this?"

Glancing at his watch, Cole mildly retorted, "Of course not! You know, we better get going, if you still want to have lunch. How about the Daily Grill?"

Olivia nodded. "Sounds great." She swallowed the last of her club soda. "Ready?"

Cole stood up and donned his jacket. He then linked arms with his fiancée and seconds later, they materialized in an alley just off Union Square. Once they were seated in a booth, inside the Daily Grill. After the couple had ordered their meals, Cole began his story.

"It all began after I had finished an assignment in Montreal," he said. "Around the late spring of '69."

Olivia frowned slightly. "Assignment in Montreal?"

"It was about a book," Cole murmured. He sighed. "A wizard's book on spells and rituals . . ."

End of Prologue 


	2. Chapter 1

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 1

MAY 27, 1969; MONTREAL, CANADA . . . Belthazor found his prey emerging from a three-story building that faced the Rue du St. Michel. He recognized the man as another daemon named Balmung. Only this daemon happened to be a member of the Gimle Order - an organization dedicated to protecting all beings from supernatural evil. The half-daemon could tell from Balmung's furtive manner that the latter had discovered the object of his desire before he could.

The Gimle daemon turned into a nearby alley. Belthazor shimmered away from his spot and re-materialized into the alley - and right behind Balmung. Taking the other daemon by surprise, the half-demon punched Balmung in the kidneys. The latter cried out in pain, as he sunk to his knees. Then Belthazor jerked the other demon, wrapped a red hand around the latter's neck and shoved him against the wall. A dagger appeared in the half-daemon's free hand.

"Sorry Balmung, but I cannot allow you to live." The Gimle daemon's eyes grew wide in fear before the half-daemon plunged the dagger into Balmung's heart. A gurgle left the other daemon's mouth, before he sunk to the ground for the second time and died. The dagger disappeared from Belthazor's grip. He knelt beside the corpse and removed a tan, leather-bound book from inside Balmung's jacket.

Belthazor glanced briefly through the book. Satisfied of his prize, he transformed back into his human form - that of Cole Turner. He shot the dead demon one last disparaging glance and murmured, "Adieu, Balmung." Then he shimmered out of the alley.

He ended up in the wide, yet empty corridor, on the 26th floor of a commercial high-rise in the middle of Manhattan Island. The building served as the East Coast headquarters of Acheron International, the business front for the Thorn Brotherhood, here in the mortal world. Cole walked along the corridor until he came upon a pair of double doors. Beyond was a spacious room filled with elegant, Art Deco-style furnishings and a sprinkling of antiquities. A stocky man of medium height and brown, shoulder-length hair strode toward the half-daemon. "Greetings Brother," he said, holding out a hand. "How was Canada?"

"Not bad," Cole murmured. He shook the other demon's hand. Then he removed a tan book from inside his jacket and waved it in the air. "In fact, very satisfying."

The other daemon, whose name happened to be Tarkin, smiled. "I believe that the proper word should be successful. Is that . . .?"

"Lambert's grimoire?" Cole nodded. "A Gimle demon named Balmung had managed to retrieve it, first. Fortunately," a cold smile curved his lips, "I got to him, before he could return the grimoire to Lambert's granddaughter." For the second time, he peeked inside the book. It had originally belonged to a powerful French wizard named Thierry Lambert. Following the wizard's death over twenty years ago, the book disappeared, which set off a two-decade search that finally ended in Montreal. The Brotherhood of the Thorn also sought possession of the grimoire. And once the order's leader had received word of its appearance at a Montreal occult shop, Cole received the assignment to retrieve the grimoire and . . . kill anyone who got his way.

Tarkin snarled, "Damn Gimle daemons! They and others like them are an affront to our kind. Death is too good for them." He glanced at Cole, who immediately stiffened at his words. Looking slightly contrite, Tarkin added, "Oh. Sorry about that, Belthazor. I had forgotten about your uncle."

Cole collected himself and responded with a cool shrug. "No need to apologize. Uncle or not, Marbus was a traitor. He got what he had deserved." He gave his friend a tight smile.

"A very admirable attitude, Belthazor." A tall, middle-aged looking male approached the two younger daemons. He projected an imposing appearance with his pale and fleshy countenance, pale blue eyes and thinning dark-blond hair. "Raynor was right to assign you to kill Marbus. He knew that you would have never allowed family connections to impede your objective."

A flash of anxiety jolted Cole. He knew that Marbus - who had turned against the Source over a century ago - remained alive, thanks to him and his mother. And for the past year, the half-daemon has feared that one of his colleagues would eventually learn the truth. Good or evil, blood came first before any other loyalty in Cole's demonic family. Including the Source. "Thanks, Vornac," the half-daemon murmured to his sect's leader. He nodded at the imposing, yet exotic-looking woman who had appeared by Vornac's side. "Klea."

The demoness returned his nod. "Belthazor."

Cole glanced around the room and noticed something odd. "Unless I'm imagining things, the entire order seems to be here. Does anyone know why?"

Vornac took a sip from a glass of yellow liqueur. "It seems that Raynor has an important announcement to make." A door swung open and a tall, dark-haired and dark-eyed man, dressed in black, emerged from a private office. "Ah, here he is."

An elegant, chestnut-haired woman accompanied the Thorn Brotherhood's leader. Tarkin nodded at the pair. "Isn't that Avara of the Noldor Dimension with Raynor? What . . . what's going on?"

"You'll find out within a few mintues."

Several minutes later, the entire order faced their leader, as he began to address them with a speech. From the corner of his eye, Cole spotted his mother - along with her faithful assistant - looking slightly bored. Nimue glanced away from Raynor and acknowledged her son with a slight nod. Instead of acknowledging her nod, he simply turned away.

Raynor finished off his speech with a grand announcement. "And that is why," he concluded, "I would like to introduce you to my future wife and the future mistress of the Thorn Brotherhood - my fianc?, Avara of the Noldor Dimension!"

Applause filled the large room. When it finally died down, the order's members lined up to offer their congratulations to the newly engaged couple. Tarkin whispered to Cole, "This is a surprise. Raynor is getting married? Again? Avara will be his . . . what?"

Cole added, "Third wife. I can only wonder what Avara will contribute to the marriage." The two friends finally approached their leader and politely offered their congratulations.

"Thank you," Raynor responded with a smile. "By the way Belthazor, I would like to see you inside my office in another fifteen minutes from now. I would like to discuss Montreal."

"Of course, Raynor," Cole said with a smile. He and Tarkin moved on, allowing the next Thorn daemon to greet their leader.

Fifteen minutes later, Cole knocked on the door to Raynor's office. Once inside the luxurious room, the older daemon said to the younger one, "Well, Belthazor. I understand from Vornac that your trip to Montreal was a success."

Cole handed the leather book to Raynor. "Here it is - Thierry Lambert's grimoire.

Raynor's dark eyes lit up with excitement. "At last!" He turned the book over in his hands. "Do you have any idea how long I've longed to get my hands on this book?"

"Considering Lambert's age when he died, I can only assume for at least half a century."

"Close," Raynor murmured. "Since you were a child. An adolescent. For over seventy years, as a matter of fact." He sighed. "Excellent work, Belthazor. I understand that you had to kill a Gimle daemon to acquire this. Good riddance, as far as I'm concerned." He placed the grimoire on his desk. "Now, on to another matter. In light of your recent work, I believe that you are entitled to a vacation. What do you say?"

Cole smiled. "I say . . . that I have no problem with that idea. I had considered asking Vornac for a vacation. I suppose you'll be taking one yourself, soon. At least a honeymoon."

Raynor nodded. "Yes. Avara and I intend to spend our honeymoon in the Melora dimension. We haven't decided how long." He paused. "By the way, have you ever considered . . . getting married? How old are you?"

"At least eighty-four," Cole answered.

A sigh left Raynor's mouth. "Still young. Yet, old enough to consider matrimony."

The idea of marriage churned Cole's stomach. "Uh, to be honest Raynor, I don't think I'm ready for marriage, yet. In fact, I might not be the marrying kind."

"Really?" Raynor regarded the half-daemon with an appraising look. "I've always believed otherwise. I'm sure that you've . . . indulged in the usual flings over the years. But I've always thought you were the type who would eventually settle down. Start a dynasty of your own. I've been trying since before you were born. Hopefully, I'll have better luck with Avara."

Wondering what Raynor was up to, Cole frowned. "Are you . . . ordering me to get married?"

Raynor threw back his head and chuckled. "Of course not, Belthazor! Where did you get such an idea? I could never order you to do such a thing. Even if I wanted to." He quickly sobered. "Neither could the Source, for that matter. It was merely a suggestion." Was it? Cole wondered.

On that note, the senior demon finally dismissed the half-daemon. Much to the latter's relief. Cole felt more than happy to escape his mentor's presence and any further discussion on his matrimonial prospects. As Cole opened the office door, he nearly collided with a dark-haired beauty with hazel-brown eyes, and a theatrical-looking outfit that emphasized her voluptuous figure. Cole stared at her longer than he had intended. She looked very familiar.

"Do you mind?" the female retorted. "I don't plan to stand here, all day."

Cole stepped aside. "Sorry." He continued to stare. "Pardon me, but do I know you?"

"I don't think so." Then the beauty swept by. Cole's body hardened, as one of her breasts brushed against his arm. Hoping that no one would notice his arousal, the half-daemon quickly headed for the bar.

Tarkin appeared by his side. "How did it go? With Raynor?" he asked.

"Fine," Cole murmured. He ordered a glass of Scotch whiskey and faced his companion. "Did you see that that woman who had entered Raynor's office? The one I had bumped into?"

One of Tarkin's brows rose questioningly. "Woman?" A sly smile curved his lips, as Cole glared at him. "Oh yes. That was Idril. She's part of Melkora's sect."

Cole continued, "For some reason she looked familiar to me. And I don't know why."

Tarkin ordered a glass of absinthe. "She should. Idril is a movie star. Well . . . not really. She's produced and starred in a couple of Hollywood B-movies over the past few years. Really cheap stuff, but she's managed to make a profit from them. And a little fame as a sex symbol."

The memory of a rather bad beach movie flashed in Cole's mind. Along with images of a dark-haired beauty, who happened to be the leading lady. Idril, he realized, seemed a lot like her movies - colorful, yet cheap. On that note, he quickly dismissed the demoness from his mind.

------------

"So that was Belthazor." An image of the tall, dark-haired daemon lingered in Idril's mind. "Very handsome. Was there a reason why you wanted me to meet him?"

Raynor closed the office door with a wave of his hand. "As you know, Avara and I will be married within a week."

Dismay overwhelmed Idril. "So soon?" She had been Raynor's mistress for nearly a decade.

"I'm afraid so, my dear." Raynor gathered the demoness into his arms. "Avara insists. Apparently, she's looking forward to becoming first lady of the Thorn Brotherhood."

Idril jerked out of her lover's arms. "And you couldn't consider me for the position?" she demanded peevishly.

Raynor sighed. "Really, Idril. Must you be childish? Avara is the leader of a small, but very powerful demonic faction. And she can provide a connection to another one from a dimension outside the Source's Realm. This marriage is purely political." He paused, as he drew Idril back into his arms. "And as you recall, I had suggested that you form a marriage of convenience, as well. Remember?"

Of course she remembered. Idril also recalled being appalled by Raynor's suggestion. The idea of being married to some daemon other than her lover seemed repugnant to her. Then she recalled the half-daemon she had just met. "Is that why you wanted me to meet Belthazor? You want me to . . .?"

"To consider him as a prospective husband," Raynor finished.

"But he's only a half-daemon!"

Raynor rolled his eyes in contempt. "My dear Idril! Must you be so close-minded? Despite his human blood, Belthazor is very powerful."

Idril pouted. "And?"

An impatient sigh escaped from Raynor's mouth. "And he is also very intelligent. Think . . . Idril. I'm Belthazor's mentor. With his brains and power, he has a very prominent future ahead of him." He added surreptiously, "And he's also very wealthy. In his own right."

A beautiful and aristocratic demoness with auburn hair appeared in Idril's thoughts. Nimue. "Human wealth. And isn't his mother, Nimue? The leader of one of the order's sects? I've met her a few times, and I have a feeling that she doesn't care for me, very much."

"She's irrelevant!" Raynor snapped impatiently. "Belthazor's relationship with his mother barely exists. They haven't exchanged a civil word with each other in nearly thirty years. Belthazor hasn't bothered to touch his father's money. And he also has quite a fortune within the Source's Realm, as well. "

"Oh." Idril decided that she could deal with that situation.

A smile curved Raynor's lips. He added, "As Belthazor's wife, you will be in a position to move through the top echelon within the Source's Realm. He is very popular with our . . . great leader. Especially since he had killed his traitorous uncle, last year. And . . ." the daemon planted a light kiss on Idril's exposed neck. She sighed. ". . . you will be in a position to spend time in my company, without arousing Avara's suspicions."

Idril slowly slid her arms around Raynor's neck and smiled. "Hmmm, now that's very appealing," she said. "You are a very clever daemon."

"Thank you."

Her smile disappeared. "If this works, I only hope that neither Belthazor or Avara will find out about us."

"Oh, don't worry, my dear. They won't. I'll make sure of that. All you have to do is make sure that Belthazor finds you attractive enough to want to consider matrimony. That's all. And he would be an idiot if he doesn't." Raynor lowered his mouth upon Idril's and passionately kissed her. 

---------------

PRESENT DAY . . . Idril sighed, as she shook her head in disbelief. Poor Raynor, she thought. Over-confident, as usual. Her former mentor and lover had never considered that Belthazor had other plans. Recalling the half-demon's last words, Idril realized that neither did she, for that matter.

Inside her posh Bel-Air home, the demoness walked over to her living-room bar and poured herself a drink. She needed to drown her memories of that disastrous and humiliating affair with Belthazor. As she climbed the stairs to her bedroom, Idril could only wonder if Belthazor now harbored any memories, as well.

End of Part 1 


	3. Chapter 2

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 2

PRESENT DAY . . . Inside the Daily Grill restaurant, the waiter delivered the couple's food. He politely asked, "Will there be anything else?"

Cole shook his head. "Nothing, thanks." The waiter nodded politely and walked away.

Olivia took a sip of her iced tea. "So, that's how you and Idril first met." She paused briefly. "You know, I have this strange feeling that Raynor had wanted you to meet her. Was it a set up?"

"Of course," Cole replied. "Only I didn't realize it at the time. Not even when I met Idril for the second time."

"At Raynor's wedding?"

Cole shook his head. "Oh no. As a matter of fact, I don't recall seeing her at the wedding." He snorted derisively. "Now, I know why."

Olivia asked, "So, when did you two meet again?"

A sigh left Cole's mouth. "Oh, about a week after Raynor's weeding. In London."

-----------

JUNE 5, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Cole and Tarkin passed through a beaded curtain, as they entered a semi-dark nightclub barely lit by strobe lights and neon signs glaring from the walls. A gaudily dressed disk jockey stood behind a record console that provided music for the numerous patrons who filled the club.

"What did I tell you about this place?" Tarkin shouted above the music. "It's really happening!"

Cole shouted back, "It's not bad! Although I would have preferred a jazz club."

Disbelief shone in the other demon's dark eyes. "Are you serious? Would you find 'that' at a jazz club?" He pointed at a strawberry blond woman dancing on a platform in the middle of the dance floor. Actually, she seemed to be slithering around a pole that rose from the platform's middle. She wore white hot pants, knee-high boots, a royal blue knitted vest than enabled anyone to see her full, pink-tipped breasts.

Coolly, the half-demon observed the semi-topless woman and felt his body grow hard. "Not bad," he murmured.

"What?"

Heaving a sigh, Cole shouted, "I said, NOT BAD!"

Tarkin retorted, "Are you kidding? She's magnificent! Have you ever seen a body like that? She's the reason why I brought you here!" 

Cole felt inclined to tell his friend that their trip had been wasted. But as he continued to observe the blond, he had to admit that Tarkin had been right. She did look quite magnificent. He wondered if her performance in bed was as vibrant as she was on the dance floor. But he remained silent and followed Tarkin into the club. The two demons found seats at the long bar. After they had ordered their drinks, Cole said to his friend, "You've been here, before. Haven't you?"

Nodding, Tarkin said, "Of course. I always come here, when I'm in London." His gaze returned to the blond dancer. "To see Tina."

"To see Tina?" Cole smiled slyly at the other demon. "In love, are we?"

Tarkin lightly punched his friend in the arm. "You really are a bastard, Belthazor! You know that?" The two friends laughed.

The bartender returned with their drinks - a Gibson martini for Cole and absinthe for Tarkin. As the two friends began to sip their drinks, a familiar figure appeared beside Cole. "Hey! Don't I know you?"

The half-demon turned to stare at the dark-haired female through narrowed eyes. "You do look familiar."

It was Tarkin who first identified her. "Idril! Now I remember you. From the Brotherhood. You're with . . ."

"Melkora's sect," the demoness finished. She said to Cole, "And I remember you. Coming out of Raynor's office."

Cole's thoughts returned to the day of Raynor's engagement announcement. And the young female he had bumped into. "Oh course," he said with a nod. "Now I remember."

Idril flashed a pretty smile at her two fellow demons. "So, what brings you here? Business?"

"Pleasure," Cole immediately replied. "You?"

"The same."

The music finally stopped. The blond dancer stepped down from the platform and made her way toward the bar. Cole noticed how her skin glistened with pesperation. "Whew!" she exclaimed breathlessly in an English accent. "Bloody hard work this is. Makes me wonder why I even bother in the first place."

"Because you're talented." An admiring Tarkin drew the semi-topless woman into his arms and kissed her. When their lips parted, he introduced her to the others. "Everyone, this is Tina Bloome. Or Christine, if you like. She's one of the club's dancers."

The blond woman . . . or Christine smiled. "How do you do?" Her green eyes lingered briefly upon Cole. He returned the gaze, feeling even more aroused. Then he glanced to his side and saw the annoyed expression on Idril's face.

Tarkin continued with the introductions. "This is Belthazor, my comrade-in-arms. And over there is Idril. She also belongs to our order, but she's in a different sect."

Christine regarded Idril with curious eyes. "Now, I know I've seen you somewhere before. I just can't . . ."

"I used to be in the movies," Idril explained, with a proud rise of her chin. "I went by the name, Diane Hayward."

Realization lit up Christine's eyes. "Oh yeah! Now I remember. From 'DESERT WEEKEND' AND 'THE MARAUDERS'. Not bad."

Idril preened from the other female's compliment. "Thanks." Cole rolled his eyes. He had seen 'THE MARAUDERS' and considered it complete shit.

Christine turned to Tarkin. "Would you mind waiting a bit, while I change, love? I reckon I can't leave this club dressed like this."

"Of course not," a clearly besotted Tarkin replied. Cole struggled to hide his amusement.

"Good. Then we can all go to my flat. I'll whip you up a proper meal that you won't find at any restaurant in this town." Christine kissed Tarkin's lips. "I won't take long." She walked away from the bar, her rear end swaying provocatively. Or so Cole thought.

Idril asked, "What demonic order does she belong to?"

"She's not a demon," Tarkin answered. "Well, her grandfather's a demon. But Tina is a witch." Both Cole and Idril stared at him. "Not a Wiccan or anything like that," he added sarcastically. "What do you take me for?"

Idril commented, "If she's not a demon, what is she doing here, at a demon's club?"

"The Triple Six is not a demon's club," Tarkin shot back. "It's for all magic practioners."

Cole nodded. "Like Riggerio's club in Venice. Or this place I know in San Francisco."

A few minutes later, Christine returned, dressed in a short, aquamarine dress with long, flowing sleeves. "Ready to leave?" And the two couples finally left the nightclub.

-------------

Christine Bloome had not exaggerated about her culinary skills. After the quartet had arrived at her flat, the blond witch had prepared an excellent meal of Prime Rib and Yorkshire Pudding and Jacket Potatoes. Idril personally felt that the witch could give any professional London chef some stiff competition. Which led her to wonder why Christine had become a nightclub dancer, instead.

"It's bloody hard becoming a successful chef," the dancer replied, answering Idril's question. "Especially for a woman. And I hate working at a restaurant. The work is hard and unless one's a sous chef, the pay isn't much. And I like dancing at the club."

"If you like it so much, why not own one?" Tarkin asked. "I'm sure that I'll be able . . ."

Christine stood up and began collecting the empty dishes. "Thanks, but no thanks," she said.

"Why not"? her lover demanded.

The witch planted a light kiss on his cheek. "I already own the Triple Six and several other clubs around London and other cities. Haven't you noticed how posh this flat is?"

Idril glanced around the apartment. She had been amazed by the apartment's expensive and tasteful furnishings. And it's exclusive location near the Thames River.

"I did," Belthazor commented. Idril also noticed how he regarded the blond witch with admiring eyes. Much to her annoyance.

Christine flashed a quick smile at the half-demon. Then she finished cleaning the table, while the others heading toward the living room. Ten minutes later, she joined them, carrying a large, silver box. "Now that we've finished supper, how about some dessert? I had considered Sherry Trifle, but that would take too long. I thought you might like this." She placed the box on the coffee table.

A dubious expression appeared on Belthazor's face, as he stared at the box. "This is dessert?"

Christine opened the box. Idril saw that it was filled with small, handmade cigarettes. "Is this marijuana?" Her nose wrinkled with contempt. "A bit mild for us, don't you think?"

"Not marijuana, pet," Christine said rather smugly. Or so Idril thought. "Something a bit stronger. Weed from a plant called Pectoralis. It grows along the Amazon River. Oddly enough, I found this supply in the Beleriand Dimension. Apparently, it's very popular among other magical beings." She added with a whisper, "It's an aphrodisiac."

Tarkin plucked a cigarette from the box. "Not a bad idea for dessert. All we need is some music."

"If you say so, love." With a flick of her wrist, Christine turned on the large stereo on the other side of the room. The song, 'Grazin in the Grass' by the American group, Friends of Distinction, filled the room. The others also picked up a cigarette - including Idril. 

Three cigarettes and forty-five minutes later, a hazy Idril stood by one of the large windows that overlooked the Thames. 'Crystal Blue Persuasion' by Tommy James and the Shondells drifted from the stereo. Idril could see Tarkin and Christine's dancing figures reflected in the window. Belthazor was no where to be seen.

"Hmmm, I love this song," Idril overheard Tina commented. "Makes me feel all soft and warm. Does it make you feel warm, love?" Tarkin merely groaned.

Idril glanced over her shoulder and saw one of Christine's hands slide inside Tarkin's trousers. "Yeah," the demon groaned. "Very warm."

Instead of feeling disgusted, Idril merely leaned against the wall and regarded the couple with curious eyes. She watched as Christine continued to stroke Tarkin. Meanwhile, one of her own hands unconsciously lifted her skirt, slipped inside her panties and began to stroke the soft flesh between her legs. Idril glanced to her right and noticed Belthazor sitting in a leather chair, smoking his 'cigarette' . . . and watching. Everyone.

While swaying to the music, Idril continued to stroke herself. Oddly enough, both she and Tarkin ended up climaxing at the same time. Then Christine removed her hand from inside the demon's trousers and walked over to Idril. By this time, another song from Friends of Distinction - 'Going in Circles' - blared from the stereo. The witch led Idril to a pile of pillows in a corner and gently forced her to lay against them. Then she knelt before the demoness and removed the demoness' panties. Idril held her breath, as Christine gently forced her legs apart and thrust two fingers inside her.

Idril closed her eyes and reveled in the witch's strokes. She then opened them and saw Tarkin remove his trousers, revealing boxer shorts. He lifted Tina's skirt, slipped down her panties and thrust into her from behind. It did not take long for Idril to become wet and tight from the witch's ministrations. She eventually fell over the edge with another small orgasm - the second one this evening. But Idril needed more than just a few strokes from herself and Christine. She needed . . .

A strong hand gripped the demoness' forearm and jerked her to her feet and away from Christine. Idril soon found herself led to Belthazor on the leather chair and in his lap. She glanced over her shoulder. Tarkin's thrusts into Christine, who was now on all fours, had grown faster and more earnest. But with Belthazor removing her red halter top, all thoughts of the other couple faded from her mind. Warm hands cupped her breasts. Idril arched back and moaned, while Belthazor's thumbs pressed against her aching nipples.

"My trousers," the half-demon growled.

Idril opened her eyes and saw that he seemed to be in a state of frustrated desire. "Huh?"

"My trousers. Unzip it."

Without hesitation, Idril unzipped his trousers and his member sprang out - erect and ready. Belthazor's hands slid to her waist. He lifted the demoness slightly, allowing himself to thrust up into her. Idril felt waves of heat and pleasure, as he slid deep inside her. She became so caught up in the moment that she barely heard Tarkin and Christine's cries filled the room. Instead, her attention remained focused upon the hard, masculine body underneath her - and his thrusts, which became faster and deeper. Waves of heat washed over her, as the half-demon's final thrusts triggered a massive orgasm. Idril arched her back even further and cried out in pleasure. Once she finally recovered, sank against Belthazor, feeling too exhausted to move from his lap.

----------

PRESENT DAY . . . Idril shifted uncomfortably in her bed, as memories of that first night in Christine Bloome's flat rushed back to her. She reached for her glass of brandy on the nightstand and took a sip. A heavy sigh passed her lips.

Following that first bout of sex, Idril and her three companions had partook more cigarettes made from the Pectoralis weed. Eventually, more sex followed. At one point, Tarkin, Christine and Belthazor became engaged in a ménage a troi. Tarkin took Christine from behind - again - while she orally serviced the half-demon sprawled against those pillows on the floor. Unable to tolerate Belthazor's blissful expression, Idril had shoved the witch aside, straddled the half-demon and rode him as hard as she could.

Idril had awoken several hours later, laying on those very same pillows and with a blanket spread over her. Both Belthazor and Tarkin had left and Tina ended up preparing breakfast for the demoness. Idril returned to the Triple Six, later that night. She encountered both Tarkin and Christine, but Belthazor could not be found.

With brandy, Idril tried to forget the anxiety and disappointment she had felt, but she could not shake her memories. She recalled spending six days searching London for the half-demon. Eventually, she found him at a small jazz club in Soho. Flirting with some red-haired female. At that moment, realization had struck the demoness that Belthazor saw her as nothing more than a one-night experience.

Fearful that her plans might go awry and jealous by her sudden pique of jealousy at Belthazor's new companion, Idril had turned to Raynor for advice. The Thorn Brotherhood's leader barely had time to help her with her dilemma, especially since he was in the middle of his honeymoon with Avara. He did managed to give Idril a piece of information - that Belthazor liked to attend horse races. Since the Derby and Epsom races had already passed, Idril had decided to try her luck at the Royal Ascot at Windsor. On the third day, her good luck had returned.

End of Part 2 


	4. Chapter 3

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 3

PRESENT DAY . . . Wide green regarded the half-demon with slight suspicion. "So, what happened after you had taken the Pectoralis? Don't tell me that all of you had spent the rest of the night just smoking?" Olivia commented wryly. "Because I happen to know for a fact that Pectoralis is supposed to be an aphrodisiac."

"What do you think happened?" Cole quietly demanded. He did not feel prepared to discuss his past sex life with his fiancée. Reaching for his tea, he deliberately avoided Olivia's gaze.

She stared at him with knowing eyes. "Oh, I get it. You had sex. All four of you. And you don't want to discuss it. What happened? You had some kind of foursome orgy or something?"

"We didn't have a . . . foursome," Cole insisted.

More silence followed. Then, "Oh. Oooh! But you had a threesome. Right?"

Reluctantly, Cole added, "Tarkin, Christine and Idril did."

"And you didn't?"

Cole sighed. Hard. "Once. Okay? With Christine and Tarkin." He took a swig of iced tea. Sometimes, Olivia can be a little too curious for her own good. And blunt. "I'm not exactly into multi-partners, anyway. I'm more of a one-on-one kind of guy. But I was a little high that night, thanks to that damn stuff." He shook his head in disbelief. "Never took that again, I assure you."

After another silent pause, Olivia said, "I don't blame you. I'm not into threesomes or more, myself. But I once heard about this guy in college, who had a ménage a cinq with four co-eds." Cole stared at her, as images of the redhead with three other females and some guy flashed in his mind. Olivia noticed. "I said I had 'heard' about it, not 'participated' in the act."

"So, you've never . . .?"

With a sigh, Olivia said, "Well . . . okay. I did take part in a threesome once. And to be honest, I found it rather disappointing. My . . . uh, partners seemed more interested in each other and eventually forgot about me. I ended up feeling like a third wheel."

Relieved by this piece of information, Cole continued, "Huh. Well, as for me I had avoided the Triple Six Club for a while, after that night. Instead, I came across this little jazz nightclub in Soho."

Olivia frowned. "So, you didn't see Idril after that?"

"Not for . . . oh, two weeks. I wasn't trying to avoid her or anything like that. I just forgot about her. Idril was a woman one can easily forget."

"So, when did you seriously begin to get involved with her?"

Cole took a bite of his Chicken Parmagian. "After I saw her two weeks later. At the Royal Ascot meet in Windsor. I ran into her on the third day. Both her . . . and my mother."

------------------

JUNE 19, 1969; WINDSOR, ENGLAND . . . Cole and his two companions cheered, as their favored racehorse crossed the finish line ahead of his competition. Impeccably dressed in a black morning suit with an ice blue waistcoat, a matching cravat and a gray silk top hat, the half-demon happily watched his choice being led to the winner's circle.

"I've got to say Bel . . ." Tarkin immediately corrected himself. ". . . I mean Cole, you really know how to pick the winners."

Cole allowed himself a superior smile. "What can I say? I've always had an eye for horseflesh. Especially the thoroughbreds. I might even breed some, one day."

"That's nice love," Christine commented, as she grabbed Tarkin's arm. "But right now, I want to see the horses for the next race." The witch and the two demons happened to be guests of an old friend of Christine's, who had rented one of the private luncheon rooms or 'boxes' of the racecourse's Grand Stand first floor balcony. They left the box and made their way toward the stalls. Like Cole, Tarkin was dressed in a similar black morning suit and a tan waistcoat. Christine wore a tailored forest green dress suit with a matching wide-brim hat. For a woman who usually wore flamboyant outfits, she looked surprisingly elegant and relaxed.

While examining the entries for the next race, the trio encountered a familiar figure strolling from the other direction. "Look who's here!" Christine declared cheerfully.

Cole stared in amazement at the dark-haired woman that approached them. "Is that Idr . . . uh, Diane?" he declared. "What are you doing here?" Like Christine, Idril also wore an outfit more conservative than she was used to. Unfortunately, the demoness seemed uncomfortable and out of place in the elegant surrounding. 

Idril smiled at the trio. "Wow! Image seeing you three here! I'm here for the races, of course. What . . . uh, where have you been?"

"Around," Cole curtly replied. "Why? Have you been looking for us?"

"Oh . . ." Idril shook her head. "No. Of course not. Why should I? I guess I just figured that we would encounter each other, again." Her eyes flickered at Cole. "So, um, are you guys staying here in Windsor?"

Cole replied, "I believe Christine and Tarkin will remain here. I'm returning to London, later this evening."

"Mind if I join you?" Idril asked in a suggestive voice.

Before the half-demon could answer, another female's voice cried out in a familiar Irish lilt, "Good heavens! Cole? Is that you?"

Cole glanced to his right and stared at the approaching figure of his mother. What in the hell was she doing here? 

"Is that . . .?" Tarkin began. He had apparently spotted the older demoness, as well.

The half-demon heaved a sigh. "My mother," he murmured ominously.

The auburn-haired demoness halted before her three fellow demons and the blond witch. "Belthazor." She offered her cheek to her son - who reluctantly kissed it. "Fancy meeting you here."

"You know me, Mother," Cole replied airily. "I'm never far from a race course. Although I realize that I've forgotten that you always attend the Royal Ascot every year."

Nimue smiled coolly. "Not every year. I haven't been here in three years."

Cole glanced around. "And where is your faithful retainer?" He referred to a wizard that has been a companion of his mother's for the past seven years.

"If you're referring to Sebastian, he's back in his box," Nimue explained. Her glance fell upon Cole's companions. "Tarkin," she said to the stocky demon, "you're looking very well. And still by my son's side. As usual."

The younger demon squirmed with slight discomfort. "Nimue. It's . . . good to see you. Again. Uh, I'd like you to meet a friend of mine." He nodded at Christine. "This is Christine Bloome. She's a witch from the Cimmerian Coven."

A slight, approving smile curved Nimue's lips, as her eyes swept over the blond witch. "Nice to meet you, Miss Bloome. I've heard a great deal about you and your coven. Very commendable."

Christine smiled back. "Thanks."

Nimue's gaze fell upon the dark-haired demoness. "And Idril. I'm rather surprised to find you here. I didn't think that the Royal Ascot was quite your taste." Her expression seemed to hint that Idril belonged to a flashy, late night party in Vegas, instead of the Royal Ascot.

Idril's face turned red, making her look even more ill at ease. "I . . . uh, I mean . . . someone had suggested . . ." She paused before finishing lamely, "Uh, someone had suggested that I . . . come here."

"Oh, a friend?" Nimue's eyes briefly shifted toward her son. "I see. By the way," her blue eyes gleamed mischievously, "I thought you three might like a spot of news. It seems Raynor and Avara are back from their honeymoon."

To Cole's surprise, Idril's expression tightened slightly. Tarkin said, "Well, that's good news. I hope that they enjoyed themselves. The wedding was rather nice."

"Yes, it was, wasn't it?"

Cole stared at his mother. "I'm surprised that you were at the wedding." He paused. "Considering your . . . feelings toward Raynor."

"Well, as head of one of the Brotherhood's sects, it was my duty to attend. And I don't regret it. I rather enjoyed the ceremony." Nimue heaved a soft sigh. "Much to my surprise. By the way, where are you all staying here in Windsor?"

Recalling Idril's invitation, Cole replied, "I'm staying in London. In fact, both Idril and I will be in London. Why?" 

A voice announced the next race over the public announcement system. A touch of frost chilled Nimue's smile, as she glanced at Idril. "Hmmm. Just curious. Well, I best return to Sebastian's box. Enjoy yourselves, everyone. Good day." 

Cole stared angrily at his mother's retreating figure. Why did she always find a way to make others feel like shit with her insinuating comments? She practically left Idril quivering like a frightened rabbit. Because of this, he turned to the dark-haired demoness and said, "About London . . . if you would still like to join me, you're more than welcomed." Idril responded with a bright smile.

---

Several hours later found Cole back at the London flat he had rented for the summer season. After a small supper prepared by the half-demon, the couple retired to the living room. A few drinks, some minor chatter and a lot of flirting eventually led to them shedding their clothes for some passionate sex.

The couple were on the wide sofa, their damp bodies joined below their waists. Idril laid flat on her back and her legs wrapped around Cole's waists. She gripped the sofa's arm above her, while she writhed and moaned with pleasure. Cole knelt between her legs - one foot on the floor. He pounded deep into her body, while their moans filled the room. As his passion increased, the half-demon's thrusts grew harder. Faster. Idril's flesh completely enveloped his, as they both achieved orgasms. The demoness' body arched upward, while she cried out his name.

Panting, Cole slowly eased himself out of her body. He leaned back against the sofa's other arm and watched Idril struggled into a sitting position. "In Caspiel's name!" she declared breathlessly. "That felt . . . I don't think I don't know any words to describe it." She glanced around the room. "Uh, do you mind if I use your sho . . .?" The doorbell rang. The two demons exchanged glances. Cole remained on the sofa. Idril stood up. "Aren't you going to answer the door?"

Cole closed his eyes and sighed. He immediately sensed the identity of his new visitor. "I'd rather not," he replied curtly.

Again, the doorbell rang. Idril frowned, as she donned Cole's white shirt. "Are you sure? Maybe it's your building manager. It doesn't look like he or she will stop ringing."

More ringing followed. Using his telekinesis, Cole retrieved his discarded trousers and put them on. "Trust me," he murmured, "it's not the mana . . ."

At that moment, a figure shimmered into the middle of the living room. "Really Belthazor! How long were you planning to keep me waiting outside? I must have been ringing forever." Idril gasped out loud, as Nimue's blue eyes stared at the couple's half-dressed state. The older woman drawled, "Well, no wonder you didn't bother to answer. Have I interrupted something?"

Cole glared at the auburn-haired demoness. "Mother! What in the hell are you doing here?"

-------------------------

JUNE 19, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Idril continued to stare apprehensively, while Belthazor's mother cast a cool eye around the apartment. "Lovely flat," she commented in her soft Irish lilt. "How much did you pay for it?"

"I didn't buy it," Belthazor coolly replied. "I'm renting it. Sixty pounds a month. Now, what are you doing here?"

Nimue shot a disapproving glance at Idril, causing the latter's face to burn with embarrassment. "Sebastian is holding a supper party at his home in Belgravia, on the 23rd. After seeing you at the races today, he has issued an invitation to you." She paused, as her eyes flickered at Idril. "You may bring a guest, of course."

"I'm thrilled," Belthazor replied with a sardonic smile. "Idril and I look forward to seeing you and Sebastian on Monday night. Right Idril?" He glanced at the younger demoness.

Idril opened her mouth to speak. She sputtered a few times - feeling even more humiliated - before finally finding her voice. "Oh . . . uh . . . yeah. I mean, we'll be . . ."

"I believe I've got the message, dear," Nimue coolly finished. Idril's face grew hotter. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll be returning to Windsor. And I will see you two on Monday night. Remember - Number 15, Belgravia Square." Fixing the young couple with an insincere smile, Idril shimmered out of the apartment.

A long pause followed. Idril felt a cool draft of air brush against her chest. She glanced down and to her horror, found Belthazor's shirt gaped wide open - and exposing her chest. Which meant that Idril must have seen . . . She hurriedly fastened the shirt's buttons, attracting Belthazor's attention. "You don't think she noticed anything about my . . . I mean, your shirt, do you?" 

Belthazor shot her a contemptuous look. Then he sighed and muttered, "I'll be in the kitchen, preparing breakfast."

"But it's not even midnight, yet."

"So what?" With that parting shot, the half-demon turned on his heels and marched toward the kitchen. Leaving behind a very embarrassed and slightly humiliated Idril.

End of Part 3 


	5. Chapter 4

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 4

PRESENT DAY . . . Despair threatened to overwhelm Idril, as she poured herself another drink. For thirty-four years, she had managed to forget that disastrous night at that party in Belgravia Square, in London. Nothing really terrible had occurred. Not really. But that night had hinted plenty of signs of the disaster that eventually enfolded for her. Looking back, she realized that after that night, she should have packed her bags, bid Belthazor good-bye and find another sucker willing to act as a beard for her and Raynor. But feelings toward the good-looking half-demon had taken hold of her . . . and like the idiot she was that summer, she had to see matters through the end.

----

JUNE 21, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Sebastian Crowe, Idril soon discovered, turned out to be a 46 year-old warlock who presently owned a Georgian-style townhouse in London's exclusive Belgravia Square that had been owned by his family for over two centuries. She also learned that Mr. Crowe's family has practiced magic for hundreds of years. But a developing fascination with the darker aspect of magic during his years at Oxford University had led him and two cousins to kill a fellow witch for a powerful sorcerer's staff. This act led them to become warlocks and according to Belthazor, Mr. Crowe has remained devoted to magic for darker purposes, ever since.

Idril found the warlock's townhouse a veritable masterpiece in 18th and early 19th centuries luxury. Hollywood could not have done it better. Furnishings that harked back to the elegant eras of both the Georgian and Regency eras filled each room. Idril has grown used to great wealth during her 48 years as a demon. But she felt more comfortable with the flashy wealth of Hollywood, Las Vegas and the jet setting noveau riche. This aristocratic setting made her feel out of place. And gauche.

To make matters worse, Idril discovered that both Tarkin and Christine were among tonight's guests. Although she failed to spot the demon, she saw the blond witch conversing . . . quite happily with Belthazor's mother. Great. She needed this like an encounter with the Source, himself.

The townhouse's owner approached the demoness, after Belthazor detached himself to converse with other guests. He happened to be a slim, elegant man with a sensuous, yet equinnine countenance and thick blond hair. Despite his decadent appearance, a ruthless intelligence gleamed from his gray-blue eyes. Eyes that Idril found very unsettling. They seemed to look right through her and unlock any secrets she might be harboring. In fact, Idril began to wonder if he might be a telepath.

"So, you're Belthazor's companion for the evening," he drawled in an English, upper-class accent. His eyes swept over Idril's figure with sharp precision. "Very lovely. Belthazor always had such . . . interesting tastes. I understand that you're a . . ." he leaned forward and whispered, ". . . demon, as well?"

Idril straightened her posture in order to emphasize her superiority over the mortal. "Yes. I am. I'm with the Thorn Brotherhood."

Crowe took a sip from his martini glass. "You know, I never could understand why your order is called the 'Brotherhood'. Especially since there are females amongst its members." He gave her a direct stare. "Do you?"

The warlock's question took Idril offguard. She had never questioned the order's name or anything else about it, in her life. She had always been a loyal member. "Huh? I mean . . . uh, well . . . I guess . . . I guess I uh, never really thought about it." 

The warlock seemed unimpressed - almost disappointed by her response. "Hmmm. Well . . ." Nimue appeared before the pair and Crowe nearly sighed with relief. "Elizabeth! Darling!" Idril realized that Nimue must have been using the name Elizabeth amongst the mortals. Crowe pecked the older female's cheek. "I was just getting to know Belthazor's young lady. Um . . . what's your name, dear?"

"Idril," Nimue said, giving the younger female a tart smile. "Although I do believe that she sometimes uses the name, Diane Hayward."

An insincere smile curved Crowe's thin lips. "How charming." He glanced over his shoulder. "Ah, Miles is here. At last. Pardon me, ladies." He quickly left the two demons alone to greet another guest. Idril suspected that she had just witnessed an escape - from her.

Nimue took the younger demoness by the arm and guided the latter toward the long refreshment tables. "You look quite famished, my dear."

"Well, it has been a while since I ate," Idril admitted. She picked up a plate - along with a napkin - and began to fill it.

The older female did the same. "I must say that I am curious. About you and Belthazor. How did you two meet?" She instructed a servant to place some smoked herring on her plate.

Hesitating, Idril selected a stuffed artichoke. "At a nightclub in London, earlier this month. At some place called . . . um, the Triple Six."

"Oh yes! The club owned by Miss Bloome." Nimue continued to select more food. "She's quite the entertainment entrepreneur here in London. I'm rather surprised by Tarkin. His taste in women usually do not include women of Miss Bloome's caliber. He has always preferred the sub-standard kind. If you know what I mean." 

Idril wondered if the other woman regarded her as the 'sub-standard kind'. "I, um . . . I guess. As for Christine, well she is pretty cool." Memories of that first night in the witch's apartment flashed in Idril's mind. "Tarkin seems to think so."

Nimue added, "And Belthazor." Idril stared at her. "Well, he seemed impressed by her business acumen. At least according to Miss Bloome." Idril decided that Christine may have been lying. Bitch!

A uniformed servant placed a serving of Lobster Thermidor - sauce included - on Nimue's plate. "I must admit that I am rather surprised that you and my son have . . . well, become so interested in each other, lately."

The older demon's words infuriated Idril. "Meaning what?" she snarled. "That I'm not good enough for him? What are you supposed to be? A character out of a bad soap opera? The clinging mother?"

Blue eyes regarded Idril with a chillness that nearly frozen the younger demon's soul. "Really, my dear. Don't you think you're being rather rude? And childish? I never said such a thing."

Idril shot back, "But that's what you're thinking, isn't it? I'm not good enough for your precious half-breed!"

"I think you really need to do something about that inferiority complex of yours," Nimue quietly replied. "Before you do or say something that you'll regret." She paused and held out her plate to a servant who was serving canapés. "You know, I never realized that you were so insecure. No wonder Raynor had decided to marry Avara. Must have been a blow for you."

Further angered by Nimue's spiteful words, Idril retorted, "Raynor's marriage to Avara is nothing more than a convenient one. It's a political marriage for the Brotherhood and the Realm. He's still wants me and . . ." She broke off in mid-sentence, aware of what had just slipped out of her mouth.

A spiteful smile slowly curved Nimue's mouth. "Thank you, my dear. You've cleared up everything for me. However, I suggest that you end your relationship with Belthazor before he finds out."

"Find out . . . what?" Idril demanded. "That Raynor and Avara's marriage was one of convenience? He knows that. Everyone does!"

"Yes, my dear. But does he know that you were Raynor's mistress? And that you still might be?" Panic filled Idril's mind, as Nimue continued, "I can only assume that this sudden interest in Belthazor is due to some twisted plan of yours and Raynor's to use my son to hide your tawdry affair from Avara. She's not exactly the type to share."

The younger demoness struggled to keep her anxiety in check. If Nimue ever decide to tell Belthazor about her relationship with Raynor, her plans would be ruined. Even worse, she would lose the half-demon. And to her surprise, she could not fathom such a thing. Perhaps if she . . .

"Don't!" The word came out of Nimue's mouth like a gunshot. "Don't even think about it."

Idril stared at the older demoness. "I don't know what you're . . ."

Nimue leaned forward - almost in a threatening manner. "You want to kill me, don't you? Perhaps hire an assassin to kill me, before I can tell Belthazor about you and Raynor?" Her voice grew soft . . . and frightening. "I wouldn't contemplate it, if I were you. Belthazor might not take kindly to you arranging his mother's death."

At first, Idril felt an urge to flee from Nimue's eyes - until she remembered something. With a derisive snort, she shot back, "I doubt very much that Belthazor would care. He had no qualms about killing his uncle, as everyone knows. And he doesn't like you very much."

A long pause followed as Nimue stared at the younger female. Idril squirmed with discomfort under the other demoness' gaze. Then the former sighed. "You might be right. Then again . . . you might not be." Another sly smile curved Nimue's lips. "There's something you should know about Belthazor, my dear. He's not a predictable person. In fact, he possesses a great talent for taking others by surprise." She quietly thanked the servant and walked away from the speechless Idril.

Bitch! Hatred and fear raged within Idril, as she stared at Nimue's retreating figure. That interfering, know-it-all bitch! The younger demoness had a good mind to go ahead and hire an assassin to kill that mortal-loving bitch. Unfortunately, Idril had no idea how Belthazor would react. Nimue had been right about one thing - Belthazor was notoriously unpredictable. He may not have harbored any qualms about killing his uncle, but he may not take the death of his mother that kindly - despite the estranged relationship between mother and son.

Carrying the plate of food, Idril sauntered into another room to find an empty seat and stopped short at an unpleasant sight. Beyond the double French doors, Belthazor and Christine stood on a terrace, deep in conversation and obviously enjoying each other company. Even worse, Tarkin was no where to be seen. An ugly feeling gripped Idril that her allure to the handsome half-demon was beginning to fade.

--------------------

"We really need to stop meeting like this," Christine said with a wicked smile stamped on her face. "Or people would start to talk. I think I saw your mother hanging around, when we were getting our food, not long ago."

Cole handed her a glass of champagne. "About what? We're just talking." He turned to face the view that overlooked Buckingham Palace in the far distance. "As for my mother, she can think what she wants."

Christine took a sip of her champagne. "And what about Tarkin and Idril? They seemed to be conveniently no where to be found. Rather odd, don't you think?" Blue eyes glittered mischievously. "If I didn't know better, Belthazor, I would swear that you were trying to get me alone."

"As much as I enjoy your company, I believe you might have a inflated sense of yourself."

The witch's smile widened. "If you say so."

"By the way, about that business proposition of yours . . ." Cole began.

Christine's smile disappeared. "You like it?"

"Why haven't you approached Tarkin about this plan?"

A sigh left Christine's mouth. "Because this is a plan that requires a legal touch. And from what I've heard, you've got a bit of a legal background. What's the matter? Afraid that we might end up spending too much time, together?"

A wide grin stretched the half-demon's lips. "Trust me. The idea of you and I to . . ." His grin disappeared at the sight of his mother approaching the terrace. "Oh shit."

"Belthazor, Miss Bloome." Nimue greeted the pair with a polite smile. "Enjoying yourselves?"

Cole replied sardonically, "I was. Is there anything I can help you with, Mother?"

Nimue's smile grew cooler. "Not particularly. Just making sure that all the guests are enjoying themselves."

Christine swallowed the last of her champagne and smiled at Cole's mother. "Oh don't worry, I am. This place is super." She turned to Cole. "Do you mind, love? I think I see an old friend. Excuse me." Flashing one last smile, she turned on her heels and re-entered the townhouse.

"Nice going, Mother," Cole retorted. "I think you just scared her away."

Nimue rolled her eyes. "Nonsense! I doubt very much that I can scare the likes of her. She seems like a very resourceful young woman. She probably thought we might want to be alone."

"Well, she guessed wrong," Cole shot back. He started to turn away.

Before he could escape from his mother, her voice called him back. "Belthazor," she said, stopping him in his tracks, "why don't you stay for a few minutes. We haven't had a decent conversation since . . . last year." She referred to the incident in which mother and son had helped his uncle Marbus escaped the attentions of the Source's bounty hunters.

A sigh left Cole's mouth. "What do you want to talk about, Mother? About how you disapprove of Christine?"

"What makes you think I dislike her?" Nimue protested. "I know nothing about her. On the other hand," she hesitated, "I do know a great deal about Idril. And I cannot help but wonder what you see in her."

Detecting shades of snobbery and criticism in the demoness' voice, Cole became angry. "And what exactly is wrong with Idril? Not good enough for me?"

Nimue rolled her eyes. "Oh dear. There goes that unfortunate phrase, again. I really am beginning to suspect that today's society pays too much attention to soap operas and other melodrama."

"Mother!"

The demoness continued, "There is nothing wrong with Idril. I just . . . I never really imagined her as the kind of woman you would become interested in. Females with a need to cling to a strong, protective male have never been your type, before. You have always preferred your women a lot less insecure. What led to you to become interested in Idril, lately?"

"Perhaps she seemed like someone new," Cole retorted. "And could it be that she's also very attractive?"

"Hmmm. I suppose. If you prefer beauty of the cheap variety."

Annoyed by his mother's innuendos, Cole decided that he had enough. "Excuse me. I think I'll go back inside . . . where the air is fresher."

"Back to Idril?" Nimue shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps she won't be in the mood to enjoy your company. Especially after tonight."

He should just walk away. Just leave and forget about the acid words that seemed bent upon pouring out of his mother's mouth. Unfortunately for Cole, his curiosity got the best of him. "Meaning . . . what?"

A knowing smile curved Nimue's lips. "Meaning . . . just a minute or two before I had interrupted you and Miss Bloome, I saw dear Idril standing in the room's doorway . . . watching the two of you enjoy each other's company. She did not look very happy." The demoness' smile widened. "Pardon me." Then she brushed past her only son and disappeared into the house. 

---------------

PRESENT DAY . . . "Hmmm, you liked her, didn't you?"

Cole glanced up from his plate of Chicken Parmagian and stared at Olivia. "Liked who? Idril?"

Olivia rolled her eyes with contempt. "Give me a break. I'm talking about Christine Bloome. You liked her."

"Of course I did," Cole said with a shrug. "Who didn't? Tarkin certainly did. She was a likeable woman."

A wall of silence surrounded the couple's booth. "Cole . . ." Olivia's voice became sharp. "Cole, look at me." The half-demon stared into a pair of green eyes that now resembled polished stones. "Do I look like an idiot to you? You liked her, didn't you? A lot."

Cole now realized why his fiancee's voice seemed so sharp. "You're not jealous, are you? I can't believe it. I've just spent nearly a half-hour talking about my relationship with Idril, and the moment I bring up talking with Christine at Sebastian Crowe's party, you're suddenly jealous."

"You liked her . . . didn't you?"

Cole sighed. He realized that he would not be able to avoid answering this particular question. "What makes you think that?"

"Because of the look in your eyes, whenever you mentioned her," Olivia replied. "Christine Bloome, I mean." She paused. "You liked her. Right?"

Realizing that Olivia would never abandon her question, he decided to tell the truth. "Okay, yeah. I liked Christine. A lot."

"Thought so."

"If you must know," Cole continued, "you remind me a lot of her. Both of you seemed to have a joie de voire about you that I find very attractive. And you're both ruthless as hell. Ruthless, yet . . . I don't know . . . very compassionate, I guess." Olivia's eyes widened. "I know. Christine is supposed to be this evil witch. But she could be compassionate. One could always talk to her. It's the same with you."

Olivia's face turned pink with embarrassment and she glanced in another direction. "Oh," she murmured. "Thanks. I guess." Then she took a sip of her iced tea. "I guess Tarkin must have been crazy about her, as well."

"At first," Cole replied. Olivia stared at him. "But I think he eventually became tired of her. Or . . . wary of her, I think." He hesitated. "I think Christine began to intimidate him. And I don't think he cared for the idea of some witch being so intimidating. So, he began to fool around with other women."

Olivia asked, "And how did Christine feel about that?"

After taking another sip of iced tea, Cole replied, "I don't think she really cared, in the end. She had other fish to fry."

"Namely you?" Olivia's eyes bored into his.

Cole merely remained silent and took another sip of tea.

End of Part 4 


	6. Chapter 5

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 5

JULY 18, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . Cole placed a forkful of Beef Wellington into his mouth and chewed. He nearly groaned with pleasure at the combination of the savory meat and flaky dough. "My God!" he exclaimed after swallowing his food. "This must be the best Beef Wellington I've ever tasted. Seriously."

"It's certainly the best I ever had," Christine said with a sigh. "Not even mine is this good. That's why I had hired Ian Terry as the sous chef for this restaurant, in the first place." Cole, along with Christine, Tarkin and Idril were enjoying dinner at a local restaurant in London's West End.

Idril stared at the witch. "You own this restaurant?"

"Yeah," Christine replied. She took a sip of her Cabernet Sauvignon. "This and a few other restaurants and nightclubs around this part of the country. Not much."

Tarkin mumbled, "Not much? I'm only surprised that you don't own the Beatles' recording contracts on top of that."

A smug smile curved Christine's lips. "Not the Beatles, love. Another group." Both Tarkin and Idril stared at her.

Once the three demons and the witch had finished their meals, they departed the restaurant and headed for Christine's Triple Six Club. Since he was not inclined to display what he felt was his not-so-impressive dance skills, Cole remained in his seat and watched his companions on the dance floor. At one point, he left the table and headed for the men's restroom.

Upon leaving the restroom, dodged bystanders that crowded the narrow corridor. Someone accidentally shoved him to his right and he found himself inside a half-empty storeroom. And in the middle of the room was a comely blonde, bent over a crate. And right behind her stood Tarkin with his trousers at his ankles, taking her from behind. 

Cole decided to leave the couple in peace and quickly returned to his table. Both Christine and Idril had returned. "Where's Tarkin?" Idril asked, as Cole eased into his chair. The half-demon glanced at the blond witch and noticed the tense expression on her face.

"I don't know," Cole replied. "I didn't see him in the men's room." A heavy silence surrounded the table. "Um . . . would any of you ladies like another drink?"

Idril quickly accepted the offer and asked for an Apple Martini. After a long pause, Christine asked for a Tom Collins. Cole signaled a waitress and ordered the women's drinks, along with a Gibson for himself. Once the waitress had disappeared, a male customer with shoulder-length hair approached the table and asked Idril for a dance. The demoness seemed reluctant to accept his offer, but eventually joined the man on the dance floor.

More silence followed, as Cole deliberately focused his attention on the dance floor. Christine spoke up. "I reckon I can assume that you saw Tarkin, while you were gone from the table." She gave the half-demon a direct stare. "I saw him, too. Fucking that girl in one of the storerooms."

Cole shook his head. "Look, I didn't see any . . ."

"If you think I'm jealous, you're wrong," Christine continued. Then she sighed. "To be honest, I'm a bit relieved. Tarkin's . . . allure is not what it used to be. At least for me. I just wish he could have simply ended it between us."

"I'm sorry to hear that," Cole said.

Green eyes glittered provocatively. "Are you? I find that hard to believe."

Cole inhaled sharply, as he felt a slim foot brush against his inner calf. He took a swig of water, longing for the martini he had just ordered. "In that case," he murmured, "I take it all back." He glanced at Idril, who seemed to be enjoying herself with her dance partner. Tarkin remained no where to be seen.

"Prove it," Christine shot back. She gave him a challenging stare. "Tonight. In my flat."

Again, Cole's gaze returned to the dancing Idril. "And what about . . .?"

"I'm ending it tonight, with Tarkin. As for Idril . . . I'm sure that some belladonna, combined with alcohol, will take care of her for the night," Christine quietly finished.

At that moment, Tarkin returned to the table, looking slightly ruffled. "Sorry I took so long." He glanced around. "Where's Idril?"

"Dancing," Cole quietly replied. Then he met Christine's gaze . . . and blinked.

---

Another three hours passed before Cole escorted Idril back to her suite at the Rembrandt Hotel in Knightsbridge. After preparing glasses of port for them both, Idril excused herself to change clothes inside the suite's bedroom.

At last! Cole watched his companion disappear into the other room. He then retrieved a small packet of Belladonna that he had received from Christine. She had some stashed inside her office at the nightclub. Cole dumped the Belladonna into Idril's glass of port. She then returned, wearing a sheer red negligee. Cole smiled and handed over her port. "To us," he said, holding up his own glass.

Idril clinked her glass with hers and repeated, "To us." Once the couple had finished their drinks, the demoness slipped into the half-demon's arms. She planted a light kiss on the edge of Cole's mouth. "Hmmm, tonight's going to be sooo good."

"I hope so," Cole murmured. Then he lowered his mouth upon hers for a deep kiss. The moment their mouths drew apart, Idril's eyes began to flutter. Seconds later, she slumped against Cole's body. He carried her unconscious form into the bedroom and laid her on the bed. 

Satisfied over Idril's unconscious state, he shimmered into the corridor, outside Christine's flat and knocked on the door. Seconds later, it swung open and revealed the blond witch wearing a silk blue Chinese robe and nothing else. "Welcome back," she greeted, ushering Cole inside the flat.

"Aren't you worried that your neighbors might see you like that?" Cole asked.

A smile curved Christine's lips. "They're used to me." She closed the door.

Cole glanced around the flat. "Has Tarkin been here?"

"He left about fifteen minutes ago. We had a . . . bit of a scrap." Christine sighed. "Well, not really. I told him that I wanted to end it between us. He resisted at first. Then I told him about that girl I saw him with. And that's when we . . . well, had words. But, we finally agree it was for the best and ended it."

"I'm sorry," Cole murmured in a perfunctory tone, lying through his teeth. "You two had seemed so close."

With a shrug, Christine dismissed the apology. "No need to be. He was a bit fun for a while. But to be honest, I knew it wouldn't last between us. And it was becoming a bit of a fag of getting it in me bum, so to speak." She picked up a glass of martini and handed it to Cole. "Speaking of which . . . what's your favorite position?"

Cole drowned the martini and placed the glass on a nearby Chinese console table. "Well . . . I'll show you," he finally answered. Christine gasped aloud, as the half-demon drew her into his arms and kissed her roughly on the lips. Not many seconds had passed before he felt the witch's warm tongue slip into his mouth.

The passionate kiss and the feel of Christine's soft body against his excited Cole more than he had ever experienced. Desperate to shed his clothes, he broke away from the witch's warm lips and removed his jacket and turtleneck sweater. Before he could focus upon his trousers, Christine's slender fingers unfastened his belt and zipper. She then lowered both his trousers and boxers to his ankles. Cole removed his shoes and stepped out of both. A loud gasp left Cole's mouth, as the blond witch began to fondle his length. 

Desire soon reached volcanic proportions within him. His impatience finally got the best of him and he quickly removed Christine's robe from her body. He then lowered his mouth upon one coral-pink nipple and began to suck hungrily. Almost greedily. Christine threw back her head and moaned.

Desperate for a need for something more than foreplay, the half-demon shimmered both him and the witch into her bedroom. He sat down on the four-poster bed's edge and drew Christine into his lap. Once more their mouths met in a passionate kiss. Christine raised her body slightly and impaled herself upon him. Groans escaped from their mouths, while their bodies moved together in perfect unison. They caressed each other with eager hands, while their lips remained locked in an embrace. Cole's thrusts grew quicker and harder in his deep desire to reach the very center of her body. Then it finally came. A fierce wave of heat and desire washed over the half-demon after a few final thrusts on his part led to a crescendo of passion for the couple.

"Oh . . . oh God!" Christine exclaimed heavily, as she slumped against Cole's body. "Oh God, I've never . . ."

Cole grabbed the back of her head and brought her lips to his for another fierce kiss. "Neither have I," he finally murmured. "Funny," he shook his head in disbelief. "For once I'm telling the truth." And he was.

Christine began to nibble on Cole's left earlobe. "You know, I never could understand why you had chosen Whatshername that night. That night when we first met. Why did you? She never struck me as your type. Too insecure."

"As I recall," Cole said between heavy panting, "Tarkin was busy with you, at the moment. And it was easier for me to grab Idril." He gave the witch another deep kiss. "And you're right. She's not my type. And I don't think I'm hers."

More kissing followed. A groan escaped from Cole's mouth, as Christine's tongue flickered across that sensitive spot on the side of his neck. "Hmmmm," the blond witch moaned, "You might be right about that. Someone that insecure would probably go for some middle-aged bloke who usually chase after the young birds. Like that dark-haired chap I once saw Idril with in Nice, last winter. I remember telling your mum about that."

Cole pulled away from Christine and frowned. An odd feeling churned inside his stomach, as the witch's last words echoed in his ears. "What dark-haired man? You told my mother about . . . Describe him?"

"Bugger me! Why are you suddenly so upset?" Suspicion gleamed in Christine's eyes. "Don't tell me that you're jealous?"

The half-demon immediately replied, "I'm not . . . jealous. Just curious." Christine continued to stare at him. "Look, I have this gut feeling that something's wrong. Could you please describe the man?"

A sigh left Christine's mouth. "When I first met Idril, I thought there was something familiar about her. And when she said that she was in the pictures, I figured that was where I had seen her. I mean . . . I have seen her in the pictures, before. But I soon realized that I've seen her elsewhere. It finally occurred to me that it was in Nice, last winter. At the Hotel Massena."

"Do you remember how this man looked liked?" Cole asked. "You said that he was dark-haired."

Christine continued, "Well . . . he wasn't bad looking, I must say. At least six feet tall or slightly under. He had dark hair - almost the same color as yours, a narrow face, high cheekbones, slim, and dark eyes that looked a bit exotic. He had a small scar on his right temple. And he wore black a lot, which I found rather peculiar for the Riviera. On the whole, he looked like some elegant chap with a flashy, yet expensive mistress in tow. Not the kind of bloke one would forget. Trust me."

The moment Christine had finished her description, one name popped into Cole's mind. Raynor. Idril had been Raynor's lover. There seemed to be no doubt about it. And with Raynor recently married . . . Cole finally understood his mentor's little talk about matrimony. And Idril's surprising appearance in his life, this summer. Son of a bitch!

Looking slightly apprehensive, Christine said, "Oh bugger! I've just mucked up our evening, haven't I?"

Cole stared at the beautiful witch. And smiled. He felt as if someone had removed a heavy burden from his shoulder. "No," he finally answered. No, you didn't. In fact, I think I should be very grateful to you."

"Really?" A wicked gleam lit up Christine's green eyes. She leaned forward and lightly kissed Cole's nose. "Just how grateful are you?"

A smile curved Cole's lips. He grabbed the witch by the waist and pulled her down on the bed. After rolling on top of her, he said, "I'll show you." And he proceeded to do just that.

---

JULY 19, 1969; LONDON, ENGLAND . . . A dark blur, followed by bright yellow light greeted Idril's eyes the next morning. She blinked several times and groaned, as she struggled into a sitting position. Once fully awake, the demoness realized that she was in her bedroom. She frowned. But how? The last thing she recalled was being in Belthazor's arms and kissing him. Slowly, she climbed out of bed and made her way toward the suite's living room. She stopped short at the sight of Belthazor sitting in a chair and sipping what looked like orange juice.

"Good morning!" the half-demon greeted cheerfully. "I hope you slept well." There seemed to be a slight, mocking tone in his words.

Idril shook her head and grumbled, "Too well, I'm afraid." She blinked again and noticed that Belthazor wore a different outfit. "Huh. Did you go back to your place to change clothes?"

Belthazor rose from the chair and placed the empty glass on a nearby table. "Actually, I left the moment you had fallen asleep. Didn't see the need to stick around." For some reason, the half-demon's offhand tone made Idril feel inconsequential.

"Oh . . . um . . ." Idril glanced around the suite for something to drink. Except for a cabinet filled with booze, she could not find anything else. "Uh, how many times did we . . .?"

A sigh left Belthazor's mouth. "Is it really that important for us to discuss that?"

Oh God. "Never mind," Idril said. "Forget what I had . . ."

"Actually, we didn't." Belthazor's curt answer took Idril by surprise. "Like I said, you fell asleep." He strode toward one of the windows that overlooked the city. "After I left you, I went over to Christine's flat. Tarkin had left. It seemed he and Christine finally broke up."

Jealousy twisted any last remnants of Idril's heart. "Oh? You were with Christine? Alone? What did you do? Console her?"

Belthazor chuckled. "She didn't need consoling. Trust me." He stared at the panoramic view of London's streets. "However, I did learn something very interesting, last night." The half-demon stared at Idril. The intensity in his blue eyes made her squirm with discomfort. "You still need a drink? How about some orange juice? I found some in the liquor cabinet."

Idril shook her head. She no longer felt thirsty. Just anxious over what Belthazor had learned. "Maybe later. Water will be fine." She strode toward the liquor cabinet and poured herself a glass of seltzer water. "What . . . um, what did you find out?" She took a sip.

After a brief hesitation, Belthazor coolly replied, "That you and Raynor were lovers. You might still be." Idril nearly choked on her water. "It seems that . . . someone had seen you two together, at the Hotel Massena in Nice, last winter. And I can't help but wonder if this - along with his recent marriage - had anything to do with his sudden interest in my marital state. Or us meeting by 'accident', last month."

Uneasy laughter rose from Idril's mouth. "Really Belthazor! You get the strangest ideas. Who told you that . . .?" Memories of her conversation with Nimue at that warlock's party flashed in the demoness' mind. "In Caspiel's name! You've seen your mother, haven't you? She must have told you about me and . . ." Idril broke off before she reveal anything further. 

A wry smile touched Belthazor's lips. "About you and Raynor in Nice? Actually, it was Christine. She was the one who saw you two together. By the way, how long were you Raynor's mistress?"

"It's none of you . . ." Idril paused and took a deep breath. "I have nothing to say."

Belthazor's smile widened. "It's just as well. You know, you seemed to have a problem with holding your tongue." He gave Idril an appraising stare. "Are you related to Orobas, by any chance? He never could lie, no matter how he tried."

Idril drained the last of her water and placed the empty glass on the cabinet. If only she could make the half-demon understand her feelings. She whirled around to face him. "No. No, I'm not related to Orobas. And about Raynor and I . . ." Again, she paused. For once she needed to think before she spoke. "Look, I did spend some time in Nice. But that was a long time ago."

"Six months," Belthazor coolly added. "With Raynor."

"No, not with Raynor," Idril desperately lied. "With another man. A warlock. He may have looked like Raynor . . ."

Belthazor sharply interrupted, "Idril, Raynor was described perfectly. Right down to his scar. I don't like being taken for a fool, Idril. Nor do I care being set up to act as some kind of shield for you and Raynor." He gave the young demoness a contemptuous look. "I'll be leaving now. Good luck in finding a new patsy for you and Raynor." He paused momentarily before adding, "By the way, sorry about spiking your drink with Belladonna, last night. I . . . I wanted to be alone . . . with someone else. Good-bye."

"No, wait! Belthazor!" But the half-demon shimmered out of the hotel suite before Idril could stop him. Feeling abandoned, Idril marched straight to the liquor cabinet and poured a drink. Something a lot stronger than water.

End of Part 5 


	7. Chapter 6

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 6

PRESENT DAY . . . Over the years, alcohol has sustained her against many disappointments in Idril's life. Yet, she could only remember only three or four occasions in which she had engaged in a drunken binge. One of those binges had occurred after learning about Raynor's death nearly three years ago. But the very first time she had truly went on a bender happened after Belthazor had spurned her for that witch, Christine Bloome.

Although the demoness had begun her pursuit of Belthazor for merely convenience, she discovered within a month that she had fallen for the handsome and elegant half-demon. His rejection of her had been a serious blow to her psyche and her pride. By the time she finished drinking nearly every bottle of liquor in that hotel suite, Idril came to the decision to get rid of both Belthazor and his English tramp. The bitch had ruined her plans regarding the half-demon; and Idril wanted to get even with him for drugging her, in order to spend the night with Christine.

Taking a swig of absinthe, Idril recalled her decision . . . and thirty-four years later, regretted it. Love, she concluded, made beings do stupid things. No wonder both the Source and Raynor had frowned upon it. Going after Belthazor and Christine not proved to be stupid, but led to one of the most humiliating moment of her life. And it all began with her tracking down Tarkin in Paris.

-----------------

JULY 22, 1969; PARIS, FRANCE . . . A steady downpour of rain fell upon the Parisian streets, when Idril teleported in the middle of an alley off the Rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame. Fortunately for her, she had an umbrella to prevent her from getting wet. The demoness then took a deep breath and merged into the crowds that flowed along the sidewalk.

Right across the street stood the famous Notre-Dame Cathedral. But Idril was not interested in French culture or tourism at the moment. A fellow Thorn Brotherhood demon had informed her that Vornac assigned Tarkin to close an important business deal, here in Paris. The same demon had also added that the 75 year-old demon usually patronize a place on this very street called Le Vieux Bistro for his meals. The demoness finally came upon the bistro. She glanced through one of the window's light curtains and spotted Tarkin inside, enjoying a meal. After closing her umbrella, she entered the bistro and stood before the other demon's table.

Slowly, Tarkin glanced up at the new visitor. His dark eyes widened in surprise at the sight of Idril standing before him. "Idril?" he exclaimed. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see you," Idril replied. She was in no mood for idle chitchat. "Mind if I sit down?"

Tarkin nodded. "Sure." He cut a piece from what looked like a pork cutlet and popped it into his mouth.

Idril sat down in the chair opposite the other demon. A waiter approached the table, carrying a menu. She asked for a glass of red wine, instead. Then she returned her attention to Tarkin. "So . . . where's Christine? Isn't she usually by your side?" Idril struggled to suppress any smugness from her voice.

"Tina was pleasure," Tarkin barked. "I'm here in Paris on business."

"If you say so," Idril replied with seemingly innocence. The waiter returned with her wine. She took a sip and added, "And I thought you were alone because of Christine's new 'friendship' with Belthazor." She took a second sip of wine.

The other demon's fork froze in mid-air. Then he slowly placed it on his plate and stared at Idril. "Tina is with . . . Belthazor?" Idril nodded. "You've seen them together?"

Idril paused before she answered, "Not exactly. Belthazor . . . he told that he had seen Christine . . . the night she broke up with you. And he had been gone that . . ."

A sneer marred Takin's countenance. "Oh, I see. He dumped you, didn't he? And now you tell me that he's with Tina." A sigh left his mouth and he shrugged. "Oh well. Easy come, easy go." He returned his attention to his meal.

In an effort to regain control of the conversation, Idril protested, "I never said that Belthazor had dumped me!"

Tarkin chuckled. "But he must have. Why else would you seek me out to tell me about him and Tina? He must have dumped you for her . . . and now you want revenge. And you want me to do what? Kill them for you?" He snorted with derision. "Sorry, I can't help."

Idril decided to give up any pretense. "And why not?" she demanded. "Aren't you pissed?"

After swallowing another piece of pork, Tarkin replied, "No, not really. Tina had dumped me in the first place, because she caught me screwing some young thing at the Triple Six. Besides, I'm not going to kill a fellow demon over some woman. What do you take me for?"

"Someone with pride!" Idril shot back.

Tarkin rolled his eyes. "Come off it, Idril! I'd catch hell from Vornac or Raynor for getting jealous over some mortal. Even if she is a witch. Tina and I were growing apart, anyway. And I'm not surprised about her and Belthazor. I suspect they've their eyes on each other for quite some time." He gave Idril an appraising stare. "You know, I'm rather surprised that you got involved with Belthazor in the first place. Then again, maybe I shouldn't be - especially now that Raynor is married again."

"How did you . . .?" Idril bit back her words and took a sip of wine.

Tarkin smiled rather nastily. "Tina told me about seeing you with some man in Nice, last winter. A man that perfectly fits Raynor's description. I didn't realize that you were that desperate for a rebound." He paused, as his eyes narrowed. "Or was there another reason you went after Belthazor? He told me about Raynor advising him to consider marriage. Did you and Raynor planned to use Belthazor as some kind of patsy to hide your affair?'"

"Forget it," Idril retorted bitterly. "And Christine has a big mouth, by the way."

A sly smile curved Tarkin's lips. "Don't I know it."

In one last attempt to change the other demon's mind, Idril added, "You really don't want to get even, do you?"

"No, I don't. It's like I said - I have no intention of killing a fellow demon over some witch." Tarkin snorted derisively. "I'd be laughed out of the Brotherhood. And so would you." He paused and regarded the demoness with thoughtful eyes. "However, if you're that set on getting even . . . may I recommend someone else to do the job?"

Idril frowned. "Like who?"

"There's this group of demonic assassins that form the Haldane Order." Tarkin paused. "And I know where Tina will be this weekend. At the Chilworth Manor Hotel. In Southampton. She'll probably be there for the Cowes Week Regatta."

"The what?"

Tarkin sighed. "Cowes Week on the Isle of Wight? That's where they have sailing races for high society or anyone who can afford a sailboat. Anything else?"

"No thanks," Idril curtly replied. She drank the last of her wine and stood up. "Thanks for the drink," she said in a cool voice. "And for the information. I guess you're not that pleased about Belthazor and Christine, after all."

Before she could turn away, Tarkin added, "Mind if I give you a piece of advice? You should really give up this idea of going after Belthazor and Tina. Witch or not, Tina's a very powerful magic practitioner. Her grandfather is none other than Tauron of the Valar Dimension. He's just as powerful as the Source and Tina happens to be a favorite grandchild. As for Belthazor - not only is he one of the best assassins in our order. He's also considered one of the best by the Source. I wouldn't go ahead with this, if I were you."

But Idril refused to listen. She had been badly humiliated. Someone - whether it be Belthazor or that bitch, Christine - had to pay. She bid Tarkin a cool good-bye and marched out of the bistro and back into the rain.

------------

JULY 26, 1969; SOUTHAMPTON, ENGLAND . . . Rain fell upon the gabled roofs of the Chilworth Manor Hotel. It happened to be a former Edwardian manor that had been converted into one of Southampton's most elegant hotels sometime during the early or mid 20th century. Rain also drummed against the window panes of one of the hotel's suites. Inside this particular suite, Cole felt oblivious of his surroundings or the rain outside. His mind and senses were focused upon one thing - the soft, pliant body that moved underneath his.

Cole and Christine had arrived in Southampton to attend the annual Cowes Week Regatta - a series of sailboat races held on nearby Isle of Wight, in the small town of Cowes. Since Christine had been unable to book a room at one of the hotels and private cottages in Cowes, she ended up booking a suite in nearby Southampton, at the Chilworth Manor Hotel. The following Saturday unfolded in a series of events. Cole and Christine met with one of the witch's friends, aboard his yacht, to watch the sailboat races. Later that evening, the couple attended a party at one of the private villas on the island. It was nearly one in the morning and raining, when they finally returned to the hotel.

Cole plopped down on the sofa and sighed. "I don't know if I can take another two or three days of this. I've forgotten how exhausting it can be, attending one of these regattas."

Christine arched a blonde eyebrow. "You've forgotten?"

"Well, this isn't exactly my first time I've been here for the Cowes Week races," Cole remarked. "It's just been a while."

The witch sat down on an empty spot, next to Cole. "It must have been a lot longer than six years, because that's how long I've been coming down here." Her eyes coolly swept over Cole's reclining figure. "Hmmm, you do look a bit knackered. Bloody shame that it. I reckon I would have to call it a night, after all." She stood up.

With energy he did not know that he possessed, Cole quickly sprang to his feet. He then lifted Christine into his arms, causing her to squeal with delight. The pair shimmered out of the suite's living room and into the bedroom. Cole placed the witch on the bed and grinned. "Looks like I'm not that tired after all."

"We'll see," the witch replied with a smirk. She crawled off the bed and deliberately began to remove her clothes. Wearing only panties and stockings, Christine walked over to Cole and gently pushed him onto the bed. She then leaned over him and unfastened his belt and trousers. Next, she removed his shoes before finally tugging off his trousers and briefs.

Breathing heavily, Cole stared at the blond witch. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Finishing what I had started that night we first me," Christine replied huskily. "Before Whatshername had interrupted me." She slipped one hand between his legs, causing the half-demon to gasp. At first, she played with him. Slender fingers alternated between gentle caresses and squeezes that nearly left Cole breathless. But when she took him into her mouth, he cried out loud and sprang into a sitting position. He tried so hard not to come. He wanted to save himself for more horizontal activities. But Christine's soft lips and tongue made it difficult. And in the end, he could not hold back.

The witch lifted her head from between his legs. A wasted Cole removed his handkerchief from his jacket and handed it to her. "Well, that's it," he commented, while Christine wiped her mouth. "Now, I'm too tired to do anything."

Christine slid forward to join him. "Are you sure?" She began to unfastened his shirt's buttons. 

Cole took a deep breath. "Perhaps not. Perhaps I just need a few minutes of rest."

"In that case," Christine removed his jacket, "you might as well get a bit more comfy." She tossed the jacket on the floor. "And let's get rid of the shirt, shall we?" Cole sat up and removed his shirt. It joined the jacket on the floor. "There now. It's a shame you're a bit tuckered. I wouldn't have . . . oh!" A squeal escaped from her mouth, as Cole rolled her flat on her back. "I thought you were tired?"

The half-demon smiled down at the witch. "I can think of something that won't require much energy on my part," he murmured. Once more, he took Christine by surprise. A gasp left her mouth, as he ripped away her stockings and panties. He then spooned her body from behind, eliciting a giggle from the witch.

"Is this all you can do?" Christine demanded in a challenging voice.

Cole murmured, "Of course not." Then he inserted two fingers into the warm folds of flesh between the witch's legs. She arched her body and gasped for the second time. His fingers slid deep inside her. It was not long before Cole could feel her muscles involuntarily clutch his fingers, as she experienced an orgasm.

"Oh God," Christine murmured between pants. "I need you inside me. Now. Please?"

A groan left Cole's mouth. He felt so hard that he realized his need to enter her completely was just as strong as her. "Yeah. Yeah, of course. I . . ." The half-demon rolled Christine on her back, spread her legs and with a grunt, entered her. The couple's bodies began to move - slowly, at first. Christine tightened her legs around Cole's waist, allowing him to sink his entire length deep into her. Locked together, the half-demon and the witch moved in unison. Harder. Faster. The moment came when Christine's wet flesh tightened around Cole's. She cried out his name, as he stabbed into her a few more times. A massive orgasm finally overwhelmed him, allowing his seed to spill into her body.

Christine unwrapped her legs from around Cole's waist. Feeling boneless, he sagged against her body for several seconds and rolled off her. A satiated sigh escaped from his mouth. "I don't think I'll be able to recover after that," he murmured.

"I reckon I don't want to," Christine added. Her slender fingers began to stroke Cole's chest. "Then again, if recovering means another tumble like that, maybe . . ."

The witch's voice faded into the background, as the back of Cole's neck tingled. Demons. Which meant . . . danger. He quickly shot into a sitting position. Two dark-clad figures materialized into the bedroom. "Christine!" the half-demon cried. "Move!" He shoved her off the bed, as a fireball from one of the demons struck the very spot she had just abandoned.

Cole, who had scrambled off the bed, flung an energy ball at Christine's attacker. The latter exploded immediately. The other demon lifted Cole off the floor, using telekinesis, and flung him against the far side of the wall. Before the half-demon could do anything, Christine grabbed a dagger from one of the night stand, next to the bed. She hurled the weapon at the second assailant's center forehead. The demon screamed in pain and disintegrated into a ball of light.

"Bloody hell!" the witch exclaimed. "Haldane assassins? Why would they attack us?"

Five more dark-clad figures, along with a very familiar one, appeared in the bedroom. "Take a wild guess," Idril greeted with a smirk.

Cole stared at the demoness. "Idril? What the hell . . .?"

"You should know, Belthazor. I don't like being humiliated. Or rejected." Idril turned to her companions. "It's five of you against the two of them. Kill them!"

It was Christine who made the first move. She stared down at one assassin. His body turned red, as he screamed in pain. Then it began to smoke before disintegrating into a pile of ash. At that moment, Cole realized that she was a thermokinetic, as well as a telekinetic. He killed another demon with an energy ball. Then he shimmered out of the room, reappeared behind two assassins and snapped their necks in quick succession. One demon sent a bolt of lightning toward the witch - much to Cole's horror. He did not have to worry. Christine quickly held up on hand and deflected the demon's attack. The lightning bolt zinged back toward the demonic assassin and struck him in the center of his chest . . . killing him instantly.

Fear gleamed in the eyes of the last Haldane assassin. He glanced around and quickly teleported out of the room. Cole smiled coldly at the dark-haired demoness. "Looks like its now two to one."

"You son-of-a-bitch!" Idril spat angrily. Her brown eyes suddenly glowed red. As a red beam shot from her eyes, Cole used his telekinesis to deflect her attack and send her out of the room. Idril's screams of pain filled his ears, as her body flew out of the open window.

Cole walked over to the open window and glanced out at the hotel grounds, below. Despite the surrounding darkness, he spotted Idril's writhing body on the lawn. Seconds later, she disappeared.

Christine joined the half-demon by the window and pressed her body against his. "Is she dead?"

"Unfortunately no," Cole murmured. "But I think she's badly hurt." He sighed. "It'll be a long time before she tries to hurt us, again. If ever." Christine began to rub his arm. "Hopefully."

Then the couple turned away from the window and returned to the bed.

End of Part 6 


	8. Chapter 7

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 7

PRESENT DAY . . . A heavy sigh left Olivia's mouth. "Wow! It's a miracle that Idril had survived. Come to think of it, it's a miracle that you and Christine had arrived shortly before she made her attack. How long did it take for her to recover?"

"Oh . . . about three weeks," Cole said with a shrug. "Perhaps a month. Sometime around early September of '69, she tried to have us killed, again." He paused. "Separately. Just before I had reported back to the Brotherhood's headquarters, a zoltar tried to kill me at my Manhattan apartment. He failed, of course."

Olivia shook her head. "Poor Idril. She must have really loved you. I wonder if she still does?"

"What?" Cole found his fiancée's musing slightly disturbing. 

"I said I wonder if Idril still loves you."

Cole immediately shot down that unpleasant theory. "Of course not! I had wounded Idril's pride, that's all."

A knowing light gleamed in Olivia's green eyes. "If you insist." She paused, while Cole regarded her suspiciously. "What about Christine?" she added, catching him off-guard.

Wariness crept within Cole's mind. "What about her?" He had deliberately deleted the sexual activity that had occurred between Christine and himself before Idril's attack. Now, he wondered if Olivia had guessed the truth.

"Did Idril hire someone to attack her for the second time?" Olivia's question relieved Cole's mind.

The half-demon nodded. "Apparently, Idril had also put on bounty on Christine, as well. Another zoltar had attacked her at a hotel in Edinburgh." A chuckle rose from Cole's throat, as the memories rushed back to him. "And like me, she survived. She had called me later that night to tell me about the attack. She, uh . . . well, after killing the zoltar, she sent his body back to Idril - in several pieces."

"Ouch!" Olivia exclaimed. "That must have been some message."

Cole sighed. "Yeah, it was. But it was a message from Raynor that finally stopped the attacks."

The revelation took Olivia by surprise. She blinked. "Raynor? How did he get involved? I mean . . . I know that he had started the whole thing, but how did he . . .?"

Cole allowed his lips to curve into an arch smile. "Let's just say that Raynor and I managed to come to an understanding."

--------------

SEPTEMBER 15, 1969; NEW YORK, NEW YORK . . . Cole entered the Thorn Brotherhood's familiar reception room and strode toward Raynor's assistant, who sat behind a large desk. "Belthazor," he greeted politely, "what can I do for you?"

The half-demon answered, "I'd like to see Raynor. It's urgent."

"Then you should make an appointment through Vornac," the assistant crisply replied. "You know the rules. In order to see the order's leader, you need to make arrangement through your sect's leader . . . unless Raynor requests your presence."

Suppressing an urge to incinerate the pompous demon, Cole sighed. "I cannot find Vornac. According to Klea, he's in another dimension. On business. I need to see Raynor."

"Raynor is busy right now with . . ."

Cole leaned over the desk and seared Raynor's assistant with a deadly glare. "I need to speak with Raynor." He paused dramatically. "Or else I'll give him a good reason to find another secretary." The assistant's face turned pale.

"I see that you're back into full swing, Belthazor." Cole whirled around and discovered Tarkin standing behind him. The other demon continued, "Welcome back."

Cole's temper cooled slightly. "Tarkin. Haven't seen you in nearly two months. Where have you been?"

"On business." Tarkin turned to the assistant. "Why aren't you summoning Raynor?"

His Adam's apple bobbing uncontrollably, the assistant reached for the intercom. Meanwhile, the two demons moved away from his desk. "There's a rumor going around that you were recently attacked," Tarkin continued.

"Yes, from Idril of all people," Cole replied. "In fact, she attacked us, twice." He paused dramatically. "The first time in Southampton."

It seemed as if Tarkin was struggling to refrain from smirking. "I guess she didn't care to be passed over for someone like Christine."

Cole gave his colleague a hard stare. "How did you know I had been seeing Christine?" he asked in a soft voice.

Tarkin's mouth hung open. "Uh . . . I . . . I heard . . . I mean . . ." He took a deep breath. "I saw Brethil in Paris. He had seen the both of you in Edinburgh, last month." He paused. "By the way, how did you two . . .?"

"End up together?" Cole's gaze remained fixed upon the younger demon. "Christine had told me about seeing Idril with Raynor in Nice, last winter. And considering Raynor's little speech about matrimony for me, I managed to put two and two together. Just to let you know, nothing happened between us, while you and Christine were dating."

With a wave of his hand, Tarkin dismissed the matter. "It's okay. Christine wasn't the type I could remain interested in for very long."

Cole nodded. "That's good. You know," he paused succinctly, "for a moment I had thought you were the one who had told Idril that we would be in Southampton . . . considering you were planning to go there, yourself. But I didn't think you were the type to make a fuss over some mortal - even if she was a witch."

"Yeah," Tarkin added with an uneasy smile.

Cole continued, "But someone had told us of our whereabouts. I'm going to find out who, and then . . ." He left the sentence unfinished. To his delight, anxiety flashed in Tarkin's eyes.

Raynor's assistant interrupted the pair. "Raynor will see you now, Belthazor."

"Thank you." Cole nodded at Tarkin and shot a caustic smile at the assistant. Then he strode past the latter's desk and entered Raynor's private office. The half-demon found his mentor sitting on an ornate 18th sofa, sipping drinks with a slender, dark-haired woman. She possessed long, elegant features and sherry-brown eyes. 

"Belthazor!" The woman stood up and held out her arms.

Smiling, the half-demon embraced Raynor's new wife. "Avara. It's good to see you, again. Marriage seems to agree with you."

The demoness smiled brightly. "Thank you, Belthazor. It does, doesn't it? I would recommend it for everyone."

Cole shot a glance at his mentor. "Interesting. Raynor had said the same to me, a few months ago. Remember Raynor?"

The leader of the Thorn Brotherhood grunted, as he fixed his eyes upon a jade statuette of a horse.

"I understand from Raynor that you've become involved with another demon," Avara continued. "Someone named Idril?

Again, Cole glanced at Raynor. Whose attention remained fixed upon the jade statuette. "Uh . . . it was just a minor little romance. Didn't go anywhere. Apparently, Idril and I were not really suited for one another."

Avara responded with a sympathetic nod. "I perfectly understand, Belthazor. From what Nimue has told me, this Idril did not seem to be your type."

"Nimue?" Raynor glanced sharply at his wife. "You know her?"

"Oh, I never told you, did I?" Avara's eyes grew wide with innocence. "Nimue and I are old friends."

Raynor stared at Cole. "Strange that you never mentioned this at my wedding, Belthazor."

Cole assumed an innocent expression. "I'm afraid that I didn't really think about it, Raynor. I had other matters on my mind, at the time."

Avara smiled at Cole. "Yes, Raynor had told me about your . . . vacation. Did you enjoy yourself?"

"Immensely."

The demoness sighed. "Well, I best leave you two gentlemen alone. You must have some business to discuss. And I have some business to attend. Good-bye, Belthazor."

"Avara." Cole watched the demoness leave the office. Once alone with his mentor, he began, "Raynor, I have a matter . . ."

The older demon interrupted. "You never told me that you and Nimue knew Avara. Why?"

Cole's eyes grew wide. "Hmmm? Oh, uh . . . it must have slipped my mind. I haven't seen her in years, before your wedding. And to be honest, I barely had a chance to say hello, during the reception." He paused. "Too busy trying to avoid Mother's company."

"I see." Raynor sauntered over to his desk and sat in the leather chair, behind it. "So . . . Belthazor, what is this urgent matter you need to discuss?"

After a brief pause, Cole continued, "I don't particularly enjoy bothering you with my private matters, Raynor, but . . . this matter concerns Idril."

"Idril?" The older demon stiffened slightly.

Cole nodded. "Yes. As you know, we became briefly involved this past summer. Unfortunately, my interest waned and I broke it off with her. She became difficult and . . . in fact, made two attempts on my life. And on the life of a friend. And I had hoped that you would make her stop these attacks."

"Why ask me, Belthazor? I have no say in the private lives of the Source's subjects, as you very well know."

So, Raynor has decided to play games. With a sigh, Cole continued, "I understand, Raynor. But could you at least talk to Idril? Make her understand that these attacks are . . . a waste of her time. I have no desire to be killed due to Idril's inability to deal with rejection."

Raynor maintained a cool façade. "And why should I talk to Idril?"

"Because of your relationship with her," Cole replied in a matter-of-fact tone. "After all, she was . . . your mistress. Am I right? Surely you could . . ."

A tense, almost false laughter poured from Raynor's mouth. "Really, Belthazor! Are you stating that I had an affair with Idril?" His laughter ceased, as he stared at Cole with hard eyes. "Who told you?"

"Someone," Cole replied calmly. "And Idril finally admitted it, under duress. Anyway, I figured that since you two are so close, you would be able to talk her out of this vendetta. If not," again, Cole paused dramatically, "I might have to kill her." A cold smile touched the half-demon's lips. "And I'm a much better assassin."

Raynor's dark eyes grew wide with shock. "You would . . ." Then his expression hardened. "There are some who might not take Idril's death very well."

"Such as yourself?" Cole shot back. He noted how Raynor's face paled. "Let's be honest, Raynor. I know about your affair with Idril. You're probably still involved. And I also know that you two had plotted to use me as some kind of shield to hide your relationship from Avara - who can be very jealous. I understand all of this. All I ask is that you talk to Idril and convince her to stop the attacks. If not . . . I will kill her. Period."

In a hard voice, Raynor said, "If you do, don't expect to live very long, Belthazor." He regarded Cole through dangerously narrowed eyes.

"Is that your way of admitting the affair?" When Raynor remained silent, Cole nodded. "I see. Well, let me put it this way - I'm sure that my mother, Avara and the Source will wonder why you had me killed, so soon after Idril's death."

Raynor's shoulders sagged in defeat - much to Cole's pleasure. "I see," he finally said. "And what about the witch?"

Although this audience with Raynor had been for Christine's sake, as much as for his, Cole decided it would be wise to keep her out of the conversation, as much as possible. "She can take care of herself," he added casually.

Looking slightly dazed, Raynor commented, "You know, I can't believe that you're threatening me. This is unexpected of you."

"I'm not threatening you, Raynor," Cole replied. "Just Idril. The only reason I haven't killed her yet, is out of consideration for you." He continued to regard his mentor with a steady gaze.

To Cole's surprise, the older demon threw back his head and laughed. "Well done, Belthazor! Well done." His laughter finally subsided. "You've certainly come a long way from since the day I first began to train you."

Cole stared at his mentor. "Excuse me?"

"You really would have killed Idril, wouldn't you?" Raynor regarded the half-demon with admiration and pride. "And you were quite willing to blackmail me about my relationship with her, as well. Well done. I have trained you well."

Cole merely responded with a polite smile. "Uh, Raynor. About Idril?"

The older demon nodded. "Oh yes. Of course, I will have a talk with her."

"Thank you." Cole let out a gust of breath. "I, uh . . . I think I better check with Vornac."

Raynor smiled. "You do that." Cole started toward the door. "And Belthazor?" 

His hand barely on the doorknob, Cole paused. "Yes Raynor?"

"I want to thank you for considering my feelings toward Idril. And I do apologize for the attempt to manipulate you into a relationship with her."

Stunned by his mentor's apologize, Cole responded with a barely mute, "You're welcome."

But Raynor had not finished. "And one more thing - I would have killed Idril immediately. Regardless of anyone's feelings. Good day."

His mentor's last words ringing in his mind, Cole left the office and closed the door behind him.

----------------

SEPTEMBER 15, 1969 (EARTH TIME); THE SOURCE'S REALM . . . Idril stared at her dark-haired lover in disbelief. "Say that again?" she demanded.

Raynor sighed. "I would like for you to cease all attacks upon Belthazor and his witch," he coolly repeated. "Especially Belthazor."

Resentment bubbled within the demoness' breast. "Why should I? He had insulted me!"

"In Caspiel's name, Idril! He had merely dealt a blow to your ego! I really don't see the need for you to continue these attacks! They're simply pointless."

Idril regarded her lover with suspicion. Both stood inside the main living room of her home, located in the Source's Realm. "Did he mention that he had nearly killed me, when he tossed me out of that hotel window? And on top of that, he humiliated me by . . ."

"Let it go, woman!" Raynor's roar filled the room. His dark eyes shone with bright with frustrated anger. "Let it go! It's over! We lost the game. Be thankful that Belthazor has decided to spare you."

Idril grunted with disgust. "Spare me? What make him think that he . . .?"

Raynor sighed. "Idril, let me be frank. The only reason you are not dead is because Belthazor has considered my feelings for your well being. But if you persist in this vendetta of yours, he will kill you. With extreme prejudice. And he will be more successful than you. Do you understand?"

Stunned by her lover's words, Idril could only stare at him. "Wha . . . ?" Then an unpleasant thought came to her. "Are you saying that you would have stood by and allow him to kill me? You won't even avenge my death?"

"How can I kill one of my top assassins out of revenge, without arousing Avara's suspicion?" Raynor retorted. "She happens to be an old friend of Nimue's. As for that bitch - she already have a very good reason to despise me. The only reason I'm still alive is due to the Source's protection. If I kill Belthazor because of you, the Source will not stand in her way."

Sick at heart, Idril turned away. She could not believe this. Belthazor was forever out of her reach. Along with that English tramp, Christine. Worse, she might have to face a future with Raynor. "So, what am I supposed to do? What are we supposed to do? End our relationship for good?"

Raynor paused before he continued, "Find someone else. Someone not as difficult to control, as Belthazor." He sighed. "Find someone who is a lot less . . . intelligent. Choosing Belthazor for this matter was a mistake. I had underestimated the extent of his pride. And his independence."

"You certainly did," Idril grumbled. She winced under Raynor's dark stare. "Well, why did you choose him?"

The other demon continued, "Because I thought he would be ambitious enough to help us, once he found out. I had provided similar services to my former mentor. I didn't count on Belthazor's 'pride' getting in the way. I was wrong."

No kidding, Idril thought bitterly. And kept her dark thoughts to herself. 

End of Part 7 


	9. Chapter 8

"STRANGE BEDFELLOWS" by RFK

Part 8

PRESENT DAY . . . "I wonder if Raynor had been right," Cole commented. "About killing Idril."

Olivia shrugged. "I don't know. What would have happened if you had?"

The half-demon sighed. "I don't know. There's a good chance that Raynor would have killed me. Or tried. He was very close to Idril."

"Really?" Olivia took a sip of water. "From your memories and what you've told me about him, Idril doesn't seem like she would have been his type."

Rolling his eyes, Cole retorted, "Trust me, she was. Raynor liked his women to be . . . malleable." He paused. "Mind you, Idril can be very smart. And she basically had a good head for business. But she was so insecure. I suspect that little trait made her so easy for Raynor to control. And there's the fact that Idril had a bad habit of depending upon her looks to get her way. Like I said, very insecure."

"But not stupid," Olivia added.

"No."

A long pause followed. Then Olivia added, "You know, it's odd that Idril had tried to kill you, after you had dumped her."

"What do you mean, odd?" Cole demanded. "She's insecure. I had probably damaged her ego."

Olivia shook her head. "No, I think it was more than ego. I think she may have been a little in love with you. I saw the expression on her face, at your mother's party."

A derisive snort escaped from Cole's mouth. "I'm sorry Olivia, but I really find that hard to believe." The redhead opened her mouth, but the half-demon continued. "Look, I'm not saying that I believe all that nonsense that demons can't love. I happen to know for a fact that my grandparents were crazy about each other. And as for Idril, Raynor was everything to her. In fact, she took it rather hard, when he finally ended their relationship."

"If you say so." Cole stared at his fiancée, as she glanced at her watch. "Hmm, it's time for me to get back to work."

A delicious idea came to Cole. "Look, before we . . ." He hesitated. Then, "Why don't we . . . find some private time together? Before going back to work?"

"Private time?" It seemed clear by Olivia's expression that she knew what he meant. Longing and regret mingled in her green eyes. "Oh God! I'm really tempted to say yes."

"But . . .?" Cole began. He covered his fiancée's hand with his own.

Olivia sighed. "Don't you think we should wait until later? Like, this evening?"

"If you're worried about time," Cole added quietly, "I can always take you to the Melora dimension. We'll be able to spend plenty of hours, together. And we'll both make it back to work, in time."

He held his breath, while Olivia contemplated his suggestion. A bright light gleamed in her eyes and he knew that he had won. "Well . . . why not?" she finally said with a bright smile.

Cole smiled back and summoned the waiter. He paid for the meal and the couple stood up. "You know, I had forgot to ask," Olivia added.

"Ask what?"

Olivia paused briefly before she continued. "How long were you and Christine together?"

The question hung between the two like a heavy shroud. Cole could mentally see his suggestion of afternoon sex dissipating into the wind. He hesitated as long as he could, but realized that if he did not answer right away, Olivia would pressure him, until he did. With a sigh, he finally answered, "Not long." He hoped that would satisfy Olivia.

Unfortunately . . . With a frown, the redhead asked, "Exactly how long is . . . 'not long'?"

Oh shit. Again, Cole sighed. "Five years. Possibly six."

Olivia stared at him in disbelief. "That long? You've probably been with her longer than any other female. Were you two that serious about each other?"

"No, we weren't," Cole answered firmly. He guided Olivia toward the restaurant's exit. "If were that serious, I would still be with her. Besides, Christine and I had dated other people around the same time."

"Oh." Another pause followed until she added, "You mean she's still alive?"

Hoping to end this conversation and not ruin Olivia's mood, Cole responded with a vague answer. "Yes. I think so. Last I heard, she had married a fellow witch back in the late 70s."

"I wonder if Idril still thinks about her. Or you?"

What he hoped to be his last sigh, Cole added, "Olivia, who cares? Honestly. I haven't thought of Christine in years. Okay?" 

"Yeah, sure," Olivia replied. And to Cole's relief, the couple stepped out of the restaurant, and into the pale sunshine.

---------------

Several hundreds of miles south of San Francisco, Idril remained inside the bedroom of her Bel-Air home, as she finished off the last of her absinthe. Then she heaved the empty bottle against the bedroom door in a fit of frustration.  
Damn Raynor! She decried silently. And damn Belthazor! Idril hoped that one was burning in hell or in the Wasteland and that the other eventually would.

Just as Raynor had suggested back in 1969, Idril had found someone to act a shield to prevent Avara from discovering Raynor's affair with the young demoness. Idril spent three years engaged and six years married to a low-level demon named Tirion. By 1978, Raynor's wife finally learned about his affair with Idril. In order to escape the older demoness' wrath, Idril spent the next eighteen years in Eldamar, one of the Source's minor realms. During those years, the dark-haired demoness finally got rid of the unnecessary Tirion. Her exile finally ended when she learned of Avara's death at the hands of a demon hunter. But it had been too late for any reconciliation between her and Raynor. By then, he had moved on to another mistress.

Then in 1999, she had stumbled across Belthazor vacationing at a resort in Bermuda. Idril hoped to finally get her revenge against the half-demon for humiliating her. But one look at those blue eyes and handsome face and she ended up being seduced by him for a few nights of wild sex. Hopes that their reunion would lead to something permanent were dashed after Belthazor had disappeared after the third night. Another four years passed before she set eyes upon him, again - at his engagement party.

Encountering Belthazor in the Melora Dimension had resurrected hope within Idril that she would be able renew old ties with Belthazor. But the half-demon made it clear that he only had eyes for his red-haired witch, Olivia McNeill. The latter strongly reminded Idril of Christine Bloome - the same bold, self-assurance, vibrant good looks and easy-going manner. And like the English witch, the McNeill woman possessed a pair of green eyes that hinted a strong will. Idril hated Belthazor's fiancée on sight. She felt more than happy to assist Eric Logan's assassination of the red-haired witch. Unfortunately, the damn idiot had ended up killing the wrong woman.

Now more than ever, Idril felt determined to help Artemus, the Khorne Order's leader, to become the new Source. Not only would his grab for the throne assure her leadership of the Thorn Order, it would also spell the end of Nimue, Olivia McNeill and with her, the ghost of Christine Bloome. But another desire of Idril's has refused to disappear. Despite all the humiliation, disappointments and anger she felt, the demoness still wanted Belthazor. Even after all of these years. And if winning the half-demon's affections meant the end of Artemus' plans to become the new Source - so be it.

THE END 


End file.
